


After Everything

by croftingthroughtombs



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croftingthroughtombs/pseuds/croftingthroughtombs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so i wrote this with professorpenandink on tumblr and it took us a fucking age<br/>it all started with the promt "i thought you were dead for 3 years and now you're in my kitchen eating cereal" and somehow it escalated to this<br/>anyway, hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day. Earlier that morning, Hershel had said goodbye to a dear friend of his, and now he had just finished explaining to at least five different sets of inspectors, detectives, and other important officials (plus the media) what exactly had happened in ‘Future’ London. He’d taken special care not to mention… her involvement.

  
He sighed and opened the door to his flat with a hum.

  
“Flora, are you home?”

  
He was greeted by nothing but silence.

  
"Flora?" He repeated. But there was still no reply.

  
He decided that she must have gone out to get some stuff for dinner. She still wasn't the best cook, but she was improving.

  
He smiled at the idea that he would one day be able to eat an entire plate of Flora’s cooking, and then decided to tidy the kitchen in her absence.

  
Usually, around now, he would settle in his study to solve puzzles given to him by students, or talk with Flora and Luke.

  
Not today though, he thought with a sigh, taking off his hat and entering the kitchen.

  
He opened the door to see a figure at the table.

  
The man at the table looked back at him like a deer caught in headlights. He had helped himself to a rather large bowl of cereal and had made himself comfortable.

  
At this sight Hershel dropped his briefcase in shock. He couldn't believe it.

  
“D-Descole? You’re- You’re alive?” Layton stumbled over his words, pale-faced.

  
“Desmond.” The man corrected, adjusting his glasses, “And yes, I am.”

  
Layton stooped to pick up his case again, still looking bemusedly at the professor at the table.

  
“No welcome party? Isn’t it a ‘true gentleman’s duty’ to be hospitable?” Desmond asked flatly, raising an eyebrow as he ate another spoonful of the cereal, “Hm, I never thought you to be one into children’s cereal.”

  
Hershel was too in shock to be able to reply. He wanted to speak but all the words he wanted to say formed a jumbled mess in his mind and he couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

  
He just stood there staring with his mouth hanging slightly open.

  
“Lucille never told you you’d catch flies like that, I take it?” Desmond drawled, sniggering at his own joke.

  
He sipped milk from the bowl, now becoming impatient.

  
“Come on, Layton. You must have something to say.” He sighed, staring at the dumbstruck professor.

  
“But... you went back? How did you survive? How did you get out of there?” The questions were pouring out now, “Why are you here?”

  
Desmond sighed as if he didn’t know all the answers himself.

  
“Let’s call it luck and leave it at that for now.” He said, mouth skewed like he’d remembered something he rather wouldn’t have.

  
But Hershel couldn’t stop the questions.

  
"And why wait until now to return?” Here the younger man stopped himself, thinking something, “Desc- Desmond… What happened?”

  
“I didn’t feel as if I had anything left to live for. I went back in there with every intention of not coming back out. The Azran legacy was gone, and with it my life’s purpose.”

  
Hershel sighed. He knew this man in three different lights now, and none of them included him having those sorts of thoughts.

  
“What changed? Why did you come here, and why now?” He asked slowly, placing his briefcase neatly on the counter and starting to brew tea.

  
“Raymond found me and convinced me to leave the sanctuary. It was also his idea to come and find you. But I needed time before I could bring myself to do that,” Desmond replied, playing with the remainder of his cereal.

  
“Where is Raymond now?” Hershel asked, noting how strange it was to see him without his faithful butler for an extended period of time.

  
Desmond did not reply, and Hershel did not push for an answer; that silence told him all he needed to know.

  
“Earl Grey?” He offered, to fill the charged silence.

  
“Yes please,” Desmond replied, forcing a polite smile.

  
Hershel began pouring the tea into two cups. He then sat down in the chair next to Desmond’s as the other man tried to spark up a more casual conversation.

  
“Where… Where is that assistant of yours? Luke, yes?” Desmond asked, holding the cup with both hands as if trying to warm himself.

  
“Apprentice.” Hershel found himself subconsciously correcting before catching himself, “He’s… He moved away. Today, in fact.”

 

Hershel tried not to look too downcast at the thought.

  
“A shame. I’d have liked to extend my apologies to him. So you’re alone?” Desmond mused, an eyebrow raised.

  
“No, Flora’s still here. Well, not at the moment, she must be at the shops,” Hershel smiled, “She doesn’t usually like not being right at my side. She was always trying to come on adventures with Luke and I.”

  
Desmond paused mid-sip. He hadn’t heard of that particular name before, having only followed the stories of the professor that were published in the news.

  
“Flora?”

  
Jumping to conclusions, he almost gasped.

  
“A daughter, Hershel?”

  
Hershel nearly choked on his tea.

  
“No, no, no. She isn’t mine. The case in St Mystere a while ago, she was the Golden Apple that the Baron described in his will. Whoever was skilled found the Golden Apple was to become her guardian.”

  
Desmond let out a breath.

  
“Ah. Interesting. A risky method, but interesting.” He commented, returning to his tea.

  
Desmond felt a strange sense of relief. He couldn’t have imagined missing such a large part of his brother’s life.

  
He stopped mid-thought to evaluate himself in relation to Hershel. His brother for a few years, then stranger for many, and enemy for three more, back to stranger, but then what? It was evident he still had familial care for the younger man, but did he acknowledge that? After all, he hadn’t even remembered having a brother for over 30 years of his life.

  
The conversation had petered out, and Desmond was staring at a small tea stain on the table. Before the silence could become arduous, a knock at the door interrupted it.

  
“That will be her now.”

  
Hershel got out of his seat and opened the door. He immediately took the shopping bags from Flora’s hands and took them into the kitchen area.

  
“Sorry, Professor, I forgot my keys but I got...” Flora was silenced as soon as she spotted the strange man sat at the table staring back at her.

  
“Professor, is that…?” Flora asked quietly, taking a few steps back and to the side so Hershel was in between the two of them.

  
Hershel smiled fondly and calmly at Flora. He turned and went down to her level, a hand on her shoulder.

  
“It’s alright.” He assured her, knowing how she could be around people that were a.) Strangers, and b.) Known kidnappers, “This is my brother, Desmond. I’ve told you about him before, correct?”

  
“Yes, but…”

  
Desmond stood here, extending his hand to Flora.

  
“Professor Desmond Sycamore. Nothing more, nothing less.” He said, putting as much warmth and comfort into his voice as he could, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  
Flora took his hand and shook it limply. It would be a lie to say that she wasn’t shaken by this sudden encounter. She had heard about Desmond of course, but only about him as Descole, so she was more than a little nervous.

  
“I’m sure what you’ve heard about me doesn’t put me in a particularly good light,” Desmond started, “but I assure you that I am a very different man now.”

  
She nodded slowly, and another reassuring smile from her adoptive father relaxed her a little.

  
“A-are you staying for dinner?” She asked, reminding herself to stay confident and strong.

  
As she waited for an answer, she bustled over to the cupboards and made herself busy tidying away the shopping.

  
“If I am welcome to,” Desmond said, looking to Hershel for a sign of approval.

  
Hershel didn’t feel like he could really say no. He didn’t know whether or not Desmond had somewhere else to go.

  
“Of course you are welcome.” Hershel nodded.

  
“In that case, I’d love to,” Desmond returned to speaking to Flora, knowing she was the one key to win over here.

  
The teenager hummed.

  
“Is spaghetti alright?” She asked Hershel, knowing it was her most proficient dish.

  
“That sounds delightful, Flora, my dear,” he encouraged, proud at her courage in the face of a redeemed criminal.

  
Flora smiled and set about preparing dinner. She had calmed down a considerable amount since first seeing a stranger suddenly in her home.

  
Hershel offered to help her with the dinner, but she politely declined, so he and Desmond resumed their conversation.

  
“I read about your latest ‘adventure’ in the paper on my way here,” Desmond brought up, sipping his tea, “It was remarkably bare of details; full of holes.”

  
He looked at Hershel with a critical eye.

  
“What didn’t you tell them?” He asked, “You’re not one to finish a case with unanswered questions.”

  
Hershel’s face seemed to drop at the mention of this. He swallowed hard and let out a deep sigh before saying anything.

  
“It was a difficult case; hard for everyone. A lot of things were... lost...” Hershel couldn’t bring himself to say anymore, for fear of appearing vulnerable and too emotional.

  
Desmond wanted to push, the thought of something unmentioned niggling at him, but managed to respect Hershel’s boundaries. After all, he hadn’t continued on the subject of Raymond.

  
“Dinner should be ready in a few minutes.” Flora chimes, noticing Hershel’s pained eyes, “I just need to finish the sauce.”

  
She turns back to the pot and makes a face at it. Usually Luke would be helping her so the food would be on the table (and in his stomach) as fast as humanly possible. Not tonight.

  
Desmond noticed the sullen expression on Hershel’s face as well. He could guess what was causing him so much distress, after all, he had watched his estranged brother from afar ever since Hershel had moved to London.

  
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he apologised, “I didn’t realise...”

  
Hershel shook his head, sipping the last of his tea.

  
“It’s… It will be fine.” He lied, tapping on the side of his cup, “Excuse me.”

  
He stood and took his cup to the sink, collecting cutlery for the three of them on his way past the drawer.

  
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Desmond offered in an attempt to break through the tension in the room.

  
He wanted to get to know his brother again, but it was plain to see that there was a lot of pain behind Hershel’s calm exterior, and he would have to wait before asking.

  
“You could help me dish up, or take the plates over.” Flora said quietly.

  
Living a lot of her life away from true humans, she was now quick to pick up on the tiniest details of body language, in case they were important. She had listened to the two talk, and judged Desmond as trustworthy. It was plain to see that he was reaching for a connection with her father - at least to her.

  
Throughout the meal there was a silence that no one felt confident enough to break. Both Desmond and Hershel looked down at their food the entire time, but Flora looked at them both. She could tell that they both wanted to talk to the other, but they just didn’t have anything to say.

  
“So… Desmond. Do you mind me calling you that? It’s just that I say Professor for, well, the Professor, so I thought it would be easier…”

  
Flora’s attempt to start a conversation died out as her cheeks flushed. She cursed herself for babbling and ate a meatball to stop herself from talking.

  
“Desmond is fine.” The man responded, much to the girl’s surprise, “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  
“Erm... well... Do you know about all of the Professor’s adventures?” She asked, “I only ask because there are still some things that he won’t tell even me.”

  
“Flora, I had good reason to not tell you.” The Professor scolded lightly, smiling.

  
“‘Had’?” Flora tilted her head.

  
“I think you’re old enough now to hear the story of the Azran in full detail.” He said with a smile.

  
He nodded to Desmond to begin (from his vague memories of childhood, Hershel knew that Desmond was a good storyteller). Flora, though excited to hear the story for herself at last, couldn’t help but make a comment to herself about how Luke was much younger than her when he actually went on the trip.

  
Desmond told the story of the three adventures of the great Hershel Layton that lead up to the discovery of the Azran legacy in great detail, taking care not to leave anything out. And Flora paid very close attention to every word that he said. She had wanted to hear all of this for a very long time, as it was something that Hershel and Luke had with each other that she was excluded from. Granted, that was because she wasn’t actually there and the other two preferred not to talk about it, but she couldn’t help feel upset by it.

  
“Wait, so all along, Angela was Mordant, and you were Angela?” Flora gasps, sipping her tea and hunching up in her chair.

  
By the time the second story had finished, the light of day had all but disappeared from outside, and Hershel drew the curtains. He was half listening into the stories, interested to hear them from “Descole’s” point of view, and half feeling a grand sense of pride in Flora. Even after hearing the stories from Desmond’s side, and the things he had done, she continued to act just as she had done, accepting he had changed.

  
“Indeed.” Desmond adjusted his glasses and smiled, “That disguise was one of the more challenging ones.”

  
“I think your skinny legs helped with that one,” Hershel chimed in from across the room, obviously trying to assume the role of cheeky younger brother.

  
Flora nearly spat out her tea because she laughed so hard at this comment.

  
Desmond shook his head, adjusting his glasses again and trying not to chuckle.

  
“Remind me again, Hershel, how many birds nested in your hair in its teenage years?” He said slyly, bringing back something that had made Flora giggle earlier.

  
“At least I did go about wearing a cape and a feather boa for several years of my life,” Hershel smirked.

  
Flora was nearly crying with laughter at this point. She was holding her stomach as if it was about to explode.

  
Hershel and Desmond smiled at each other. Neither of them had really known what it was like to have a brother before now.

  
“Alright, that’s enough teasing for now; there’s still another story left to tell.” Hershel chuckled, “Carry on, Professor Stickyfloor.”

  
Flora’s eyes widened from where she was sitting, and she renewed her joyous peals of laughter, having to hold the table for support.

  
By the time everyone had stopped laughing and Desmond had finished telling the final chapter of the story it was pitch black outside and the time was nearing 10 o’clock. 

Flora’s eyelids were beginning to droop as she was usually in bed by this time. She was the type to wake early and sleep early.

  
“Alright, Flora,” Hershel said in a gentle tone, “I think it’s about time you went to sleep.”

  
“I couldn’t agree more,” Flora replied with a heavy yawn.

  
“Goodnight then.” Desmond said kindly.

  
He smiled at her, and patted her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. Flora smiled back, rubbing her eyes, and then hugged the Professor.

  
“I’ll see you in the morning. Bright and early, okay, Professor? You have a class at 9 o’ clock.” She giggled, walking out of the room with a spring in her step.

  
“Well, I suppose I’d best be off,” Desmond said as he stood up and started walking towards the door.

  
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Hershel asked, although he felt he already knew the answer.

  
“I have money.” Desmond responded, swerving the question.

  
Hershel shook his head in disbelief and began to mentally take stock of rooms he could shift around. Luke’s old bedroom would probably do, since they’d never actually gotten around to painting and decorating it, what with all their adventures taking up most of their time.

  
“Answer my question, Desmond.” He said firmly, raising an eyebrow.

  
“… No.”

  
“Then stay here. We have an extra room; you’re more than welcome to use it.”

  
“I can’t... I... I wouldn’t feel right. I’ve just shown up out of the blue after causing you and so many other people pain. I nearly killed both you and Luke, Hershel, and you’re offering me a place to stay? You must be nearly as crazy as I am.”

  
“And so what if I am crazy?” Hershel tilted his head.

  
“Then it would be a scientific breakthrough; craziness runs in the family.” Desmond snarked back.

  
Hershel stepped between Desmond and the door, disguising the action as shrugging off his coat and hanging it up on the hook.

  
“The fact of the matter, Desmond, is that you’ve more than redeemed yourself in my eyes. That final Azran adventure… Not even when you revealed yourself as Descole did you truly threaten Luke or Emmy, and I know you only attempted to disarm me during that fight.” He explained, looking at his older brother with a kind smile.

  
“Hershel, please just let me past. I shouldn’t even be here. ”

  
Desmond’s facial expression shifted to one of bitter anger. He clenched his fist and stared his younger brother down.

  
Hershel held the gaze of him for a fee moments more, long enough to see the subtle change in his eyes.

  
“I can’t convince you otherwise?” He tries one last time, “It’s a shame; my students would have loved to meet ‘the’ Professor Sycamore.” He muses.

  
Desmond’s face dropped and he looked down. He had almost forgotten that he was somewhat a celebrity. All he could remember now was being Descole. But he didn’t want that anymore; he had changed, he was no longer the man in the mask.

  
“Well, if that’s the case,” he said, “I’d hate to disappoint them.”

  
A smile drew itself across Hershel’s features, and he led Desmond through to Lu-… To the spare room.

  
“Did you bring a case, at all?” He asked the older man, checking to make sure the room was tidy before he let Desmond enter.

  
“No. I didn’t think I’d be staying nearly as long as I already have.”

  
“I think I may have some spare pyjamas. My mother sent me some for Christmas but they were a size too big, so they’ll probably fit you better.”

  
With that Hershel went to rummage in his own room for the spare pair of pyjamas, leaving Desmond to look around the newly spare bedroom.

  
Desmond took the chance to evaluate his surroundings, yawning a little. There was the faint smell of… sawdust in the room. That, coupled with a couple of pictures tacked on the wall, led Desmond to understand that the room had once been Luke’s. He always had loved his animals.

  
With a faint smile, he looked at the two photos, and then gasped. The first one was of Hershel, Flora, and Luke; rather sweet, they looked to be having fun. But that wasn’t the one that drew his eye. The second one had him in. It was less a picture, more a collage of different moments in the Azran journey. There were different notes scribbled in places, and doodles over some of the pictures.

  
‘I miss Emmy… She was so fun!’

  
'The Professor says he still has that duck mask somewhere and I can have it before I leave.’

  
'Professor Sycamore was nice; before we found out he was Descole…’

  
This note felt like a small dagger to the heart. Desmond knew that people weren’t overly fond of him when he assumed his Descole persona, but seeing written proof of it hurt that little bit more. But then again, he had decided that he would never put on the mask again, so there would be no reason for people to dislike him anymore. It was just a shame that he could never show that to Luke.

  
There was a knock at the door, and Desmond quickly put down the pictures for fear he would be caught snooping.

  
“Come in.” Desmond called, opening the door.

  
Hershel entered with a smile.

  
“Will these fit?” He asked, handing pyjamas to Desmond as he began to make up the bed with some new sheets.

  
Desmond unfolded the pyjamas and held them against himself in order to see if they were big enough; his younger brother was quite a bit shorter than him.

  
“Yes, I think they’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  
The older man couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty in this situation. He had shown up at Hershel’s home with no invitation after three years of Hershel thinking he was dead.

  
“Let me do that.” Desmond blurted quickly, “It’s the least I can do to make up for your hospitality.”

  
Hershel smiled, still wondering ‘why now?’, but nodded and allowed Desmond to take over. He noticed the pictures left on the shelf and picked them up. Luke must have forgotten them; he’d mail them tomorrow.

  
“I really don’t understand how you can be so welcoming towards me,” Desmond said with a small chuckle as he folded the old sheets, “I mean, I did break in. And steal your cereal.”

  
“Desmond, what’s the point in being angry?” Hershel asked, “Honestly, it’s a minor misdemeanour in your books. I’ve forgiven you for past issues; I understand your reasoning for them.”

  
He turned to pick up the old sheets.

  
“I forgive you for this as well.”

  
“Thank you. I really appreciate that. After all, that’s what a gentleman does, right?”

  
Hershel let out a small laugh, “I suppose it is. I’ll see you in the morning, then, Desmond. We eat at about seven, but something tells me Flora won’t be up for then. She’s usually asleep a lot earlier than this,” he explained, “Goodnight.”

  
“And to you.” Desmond smiled back, stifling a yawn.

  
Desmond settled down underneath the fresh sheets but didn’t go to sleep straight away. For a while he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, with his own thoughts occupying his brain. He still didn’t quite understand how Hershel could be so hospitable towards him after everything he’d done in the past, but it made him happy that his younger brother could be so forgiving. Perhaps this was the start of his new adventure; one he’d been waiting to start for three years.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hershel was the first to rise the next morning, and moved around the house, opening curtains to let the wintery light of the morning into the rooms. He decided to make something warm for breakfast. They’d all certainly appreciate having something to keep the cold away today.

  
Flora was the next to wake up. She still looked tired, but she always took it upon herself to make sure Hershel was organized and on time to work.

  
“Morning, Professor,” she said with a yawn whilst rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  
“Good morning, Flora. Did you sleep well?” Hershel asked, finding porridge oats in the cupboard and beginning to warm up their breakfast.

  
“Mmmhmm,” Flora mumbled a response, blinking and smiling at him, “How about you?”

  
She tidied the table of leftover crockery from last night and began to wash it all up.

  
“Flora, I just wanted to say that I’m very proud of you, dear,” the Professor brought up quietly.

  
“What for?” Flora asked.

  
“You handled the whole situation with Desmond very maturely, and you were very polite towards him."

  
“Did I? In truth I was terrified,” she said with a slightly nervous laugh.

  
Hershel chuckled and patted his daughter’s head softly.

  
“You acted like the true lady I’d hoped you’d grow into.” He said, nodding, “And your bravery is to be commended also. I know you can be apprehensive in situations like that.”

  
Flora smiled proudly.

  
Eventually Desmond emerged from the spare bedroom, his hair a mess and his eyes only half open. It was easy to tell that he hadn’t slept very well for one reason or another.

  
“Morning all,” he said in a croaky voice.

  
Flora and Hershel looked up from the table.

  
“Good morning, Desmond!” Flora chirped, much more at ease now, and trying not to giggle at his hair.

  
“Morning.” Hershel smiled, “There’s porridge in the pot if you want that.”

  
“That sounds good. Is there any chance of a cup of coffee?”

  
“We only have tea,” Flora answered, “the professor doesn’t tend to drink coffee, at all.”

  
“There’s a coffee machine at the university, you can have some there. That is, if you still wish to meet my students?” Hershel said with a hopeful look.

  
Desmond hummed, debating the idea. If he was attempting to rebuild his life, surely that would be a step in the right direction.

  
“I’d be glad to.” He said with a nod, serving himself some breakfast.

  
After breakfast and after everyone had finished getting ready for the day Hershel and Desmond set off for the university. Flora had packed both of them a lunch and waved them goodbye.

  
“So, your students,” Desmond started when they entered the Laytonmobile, “Invested in lessons? Excelling under your tutelage?”

  
Layton chuckled.

  
“Of course.” He tipped his hat with a smile, “Some more - ahem - invested than others.”

  
The younger man’s thoughts drifted to Rosetta Stone, a young woman in his class, and he shuddered.

  
“I’ve forgotten what it’s like to teach a class.” Desmond’s expression shifted to a thoughtful one, as if he was trying to dig deep in his mind for memories of what it was like to be himself before he adopted the guise of Descole.

  
The ride was quiet, with minimal chatter after a while, but companionable.

  
“My first lecture is… on the Azran, actually.” Hershel said when they reached the lecture hall.

  
“Ah, I’m a relevant guest speaker then.” Desmond laughed.

  
“Yes, so this is more a happy accident than something planned. But nonetheless I’m sure my students will be more than happy to hear from the esteemed Professor Sycamore.”

  
Desmond smiled at this; it felt good to be a normal person again.

  
The two professors entered the lecture hall and began to set up.

  
“Some of my students like to come in early,” Hershel explained, “Ask questions unrelated to the course, and the like.”

  
Much to the younger man’s dismay, these regulars included a one Miss Stone.

  
“Why, good morning, Professor L.” Her voice called.

  
“Good morning, Miss Stone,” Hershel replied in a less than pleased voice.

  
“Ooh, who’s your friend?” She asked, gesturing to Desmond.

 

Hershel had no time to warn Desmond, and already he was greeting the student.

  
“Professor Desmond Sycamore. You may have heard of me, if you are as interested in archaeology as your earliness to class suggests,” the professor smiled, extending his hand to her.

  
“Oh, how nice to meet you, Professor Sycamore,” she said as she took his hand and batted her eyelashes at him, “And just so you know, it’s not just the archaeology that piques my interest.”

  
Desmond could now see why Hershel had looked so uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  
“Ahem, well, uhm, yes.” Desmond adjusted his glasses and removed his hand from her surprisingly firm grip.

  
Despite disapproving of Rosetta Stone in every way, shape and form, Hershel couldn’t help but chuckle at how quickly his brother had become flustered. Rosetta noticed this and turned on a sickly sweet smile.

  
“I’m not forgetting my favourite professor, of course.” She said, placing a magazine on his desk, “I got you the latest issue of Puzzles Weekly.”

  
“Thank you, Miss Stone,” Hershel tried to remain composed and polite in this situation, but he couldn’t stop himself from giving off a cold vibe, “If you could take your seat and get ready for today’s class, I would very much appreciate it.”

  
Rosetta sighed and muttered to herself, something about a ‘spoilsport’, before flouncing to her seat in the front row and preparing to take notes. Another few students filtered in, some greeting their teacher, all wondering who the other man was.

  
“Is that…?” One whispered to his friend.

  
'Professor Sycamore, I think,’ she signed back, 'a genius.’

  
Desmond noticed the exchange, wondering how she could have heard him if she was signing.

  
Once all of the students had come in to the room and sat down, the younger professor began to speak.

  
“Welcome back, all of you. I’m sure you’re all wondering who the gentleman to my right is. Well, I’d like to introduce my older brother, Professor Desmond Sycamore.”

  
A ripple of muttering split throughout the hall.

  
“He’s the Professor’s brother?”

  
“Yeah, they look really similar!”

  
Both brothers questioned that statement, but decided not to take the student up on it.

  
“I heard he died,” somebody called, “on some big expedition.”

  
Desmond shook his head.

  
“Not died, simply withdrew from the field for a few years. On account of my health,” he quickly lied, adjusting his glasses.

  
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, there’ll be plenty of time for questions after the lecture if you wish to stay,” Hershel called over the noise, “but we have a lot left on the curriculum to learn before the exams. We should crack on.”

  
The lecture was able to continue without any interruptions, although there was some whispering between students. Desmond admired how his younger brother was able to keep the students interested in every word he said; it was a skill that he himself had always struggled to master.

  
“Professor?”

  
The lecture had been rather quiet, as Hershel had given them a few minutes to work on a puzzle left by the Azran. Hershel strolled over to talk to the student, who was translating from sign for his friend. Desmond raised his eyebrows when his brother responded directly to the girl in sign, smiling kindly.

  
“I never knew you could speak sign.” He commented when Hershel returned to his desk.

  
“Needs must when one works in a university. I’ve had many non-verbal and deaf students in here.” He smiled and adjusted his hat as the students continued to work.

  
It would seem there was a lot about his brother that Desmond didn’t know, but now he had the opportunity to learn.

  
When there was a few minutes left at the end of the lecture, Hershel asked his students if they had any questions for Professor Sycamore, but not without first checking whether or not Desmond was comfortable answering anything the students may ask.

  
A good majority of the students raised their hands, including Rosetta.

  
“So why did you take so long off work, then?” One student, particularly loud, asked.

  
“Well that was mainly due to health complications I don’t wish to go into, but… Family issues factored in as well.” Desmond explained, smiling amiably.

  
“How come Professor L’s never mentioned you before then?”

  
Rosetta raised an eyebrow. She had researched the Professor extensively, and she’d never seen records of a brother.

  
“Uhm... Well...” Desmond stumbled over his words and adjusted his glasses, “Professor Layton is very dedicated to his work and didn’t think it would be appropriate to bring his personal life into his professional life.”

  
Rosetta huffed and fell silent as she thought of a new way to get more information from the enigma of a professor.

  
“So, are you married, Professor Sycamore?” Another student asked, urged on by a group of her friends.

  
Desmond coughed awkwardly, as if he was choking on the question. He looked down in order to hide his face, and then looked at Hershel as a desperate call for help. Hershel recognised this and acted quickly.

  
“I think that’s enough questions for now, I don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

  
There was a collective sigh of annoyance that came from the students as they began gathering their things to leave the room. Desmond however, let out a sigh of relief for not having to answer the girl’s question.

  
The girl who had asked turned back to her friends, red-faced, and demanded it was someone else’s turn for a dare. This calmed Desmond further; at least there would be no follow up questions from her.

  
“So, Professor S…” Rosetta had made her way to the front of the hall, “I’ve been kicked out of all my other classes; I’ve got time to chat.”

  
“Why have you been kicked out of your classes? That doesn’t exactly seem like a good thing,” Desmond said, trying to keep the focus of the conversation off of him as much as possible.

  
“Oh, the professors didn’t ‘like my attitude’, or something.” Rosetta said nonchalantly, “But I’m much better behaved in this class.”

  
She smiled at him and tilted her head in what she hoped was an endearing manner.

  
“Question for a question, why don’t you have the same last name as Professor L, then?” She pushed, batting her eyelashes.

  
“I hardly think that’s any of your business, Miss Stone,” Desmond replied flatly.

  
But not even this deterred her. She smirked at him, silently pushing for an answer.

  
She stepped just that bit closer, looking up at the man from inside his personal space. Desmond backed up, trying not to show his discomfort.

  
“So, Professor S? Or, since you’re not actually my teacher, I suppose I could call you Desmond…” She contemplated.

  
“Professor Sycamore is fine, thank you very much,” Desmond retorted, stepping to the side to avoid Rosetta getting any closer to him.

  
“Oh well, whatever pleases you, Professor S.” Rosetta shrugged and smiled.

  
Hershel finally finished packing away the lesson, and noticed his brother’s distress.

  
“Miss Stone, along you go please. Professor Sycamore and I have to prepare for the next lecture.” He cut in, putting on his ‘teacher voice’ and folding his arms.

  
Rosetta jumped as the main (and unwilling) object of her affections stepped over and in between the two. Desmond let out a sigh of relief.

  
“Fine. It’s not like I wanted to discuss the Azran with Professor Sycamore or anything,” Rosetta huffed, in a poor attempt to make her intentions seem strictly intellectual. She stormed out of the room, leaving the two, now very relieved, professors on their own.

  
Desmond stared at Hershel.

  
“How is she still on this course?” He asked, helping him set out fossil samples for the ‘Introduction To Archaeology’ taster workshop that was next.

  
“She… Excels in her work. She has a natural flair for history and archaeology. As much as her… 'advances’ are unwelcome, it would be a terrible shame if such a bright young woman were denied a future in a subject she obviously enjoys due to her juvenile behaviour.” The younger man explained, adjusting his hat.

  
“Maybe she just needs to be told a firm ‘no’,” Desmond suggested with a chuckle. There was no denying that the girl made him incredibly uncomfortable despite only knowing her for a short period of time.

  
“You think I didn’t try?” Hershel responded, also chuckling, “No matter what I say, I think she sees it as further encouragement.”

  
Hershel flipped through the puzzle magazine she had delivered him, and solved each page in mere moments. Desmond saw this as a challenge.

  
“Here, let me try a page.”

  
“I don’t know, some of these may be a little difficult for you,” Hershel said with a cheeky smile.

  
“I’m just as smart as you, Hershel, if not smarter.”

  
“Well, if you’re sure...” Hershel handed him the magazine.

  
Desmond took out a pen and began to write in his own answers in his chicken scratch handwriting.

  
“Hah!” He finished his page at a quick pace, grinning.

  
“Congratulations, but not fast enough.” Hershel smirked confidently.

  
“I’m just out of practice. It has been three years since I last solved a puzzle.”

  
“That’s no excuse. A true gentleman leaves no puzzle unsolved.”

  
“A true gentleman isn’t competitive.” Desmond countered, solving another page.

  
“Au contraire, my brother, healthy competition keeps the spirit of a gentleman fresh.” Hershel chuckled.

  
“Whatever you say.”

  
Desmond couldn’t help but smile at this little debate. It felt like there brotherly relationship was one that had lasted throughout both of their lives, not one that had only been recently rekindled.

  
“Ah, we should prepare the last bits for the workshop.” Hershel said upon noticing the time.

  
Desmond nodded and started setting out information sheets on desk.

  
“I’ll bet you I could beat you in a head to head puzzle battle.” Hershel challenged Desmond with a grin.

  
“Much like I could beat you in a fair fencing match.” Desmond responded, smirking.

  
“Touché, brother.”

  
Not many students showed up to the workshop, as most people probably already had more important things to be doing. A few other staff members came along as they had some time to kill. Desmond thought he recognised a few of them since he had seen them on his way in.

  
One he recognised instantly, however, was Rosetta. He knew she had a lot of spare time, but oddly enough he didn’t expect her to come to the workshop.

  
Hershel let out an almost inaudible groan and made himself busy explaining the intricacies of carbon dating to a few members of the Gressenheller College that hoped to do archeology at the university. Desmond also searched wildly for something to occupy himself w-

  
“Ah, Professor S! Fancy seeing you here.”

  
“Well, in fairness, Miss Stone, I never left,” he told her.

  
“Oh,” she said, stepping towards him, “So, are you staying for a while?”

  
Desmond squirmed inwardly and looked over Rosetta’s head in an attempt to find someone in need of aid. Nothing.

  
“Not as much of a fake gentleman as your brother, are you? It’s sort of endearing, you not having to put on that act.” Rosetta looked up at him flirtatiously.

  
“Professor Sycamore, perhaps you could take over here for a moment?” Hershel appeared and saved his brother.

  
And so the tag team of dealing with Miss Stone began.

  
“Yes!” Desmond said enthusiastically, “I’d love to.”

  
He hurriedly walked away as Rosetta’s eyes followed him the whole way. She eventually looked back towards Hershel.

  
“Professor L, who is he really? You know little Rosetta can keep a secret.” She wheedled, hoping the extra makeup she had applied would work in her favour.

  
Hershel sighed and covered his eyes with his hat.

  
“He’s my brother, that’s all there is to it,” Hershel explained, hoping with everything in him that Rosetta would leave it at that.

  
He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  
“Then why don’t you have the same last name?”

  
“Miss Stone, as Professor Sycamore stated earlier, I prefer to keep my personal and private life separate.” Hershel began, but he was quickly cut off.

  
“So what was that family issue Professor S had then? Why didn’t you take time off as well? We all know how taxing teaching is, but we would have missed you…” Rosetta blinked shiny eyes.

  
“I don’t think he would be happy with me if I told you. It isn’t my place to tell.”

  
“You can tell me, I promise I won’t tell anyone else.” She batted her eyelashes in an attempt to flirt the information out of him.

  
“Miss Stone, if there is something in your eye, I would suggest going to the campus first aider. They’ll be able to aid you.” Hershel said, not really concerned at all.

  
Desmond, who had come to swap role again, heard this and had to try very hard not to laugh.

  
“Professor Layton,” he started, purposely avoiding Rosetta’s gaze, “I do believe some of the students over there have some questions for you.”

  
As Hershel walked to the other side of the room, Rosetta looked disappointed at first, but then immediately joyful when she looked back at Desmond.

  
“How well do you know Professor L, then? Is it true he can completely defeat a villain with only a stick?” She badgered, wondering if this would yield any interesting information.

  
_It was a lead pipe, not a stick!_ Desmond thought indignantly.

  
“That may well be true, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him fight anybody,” Desmond lied. He just hoped that he was a good liar.

  
“Hm, but weren’t you on that Azran expedition with him? You know, I heard a lot about that. Apparently there was this guy that the professor was on less than amicable terms with. Descole, I think his name was. Or something like that.”

  
Desmond was stopped in his tracks. Hershel had said nothing about him as either Desmond or Descole in the papers. How had this girl known?!

  
“I was on that expedition, but we split up at one point, and that was when he encountered Descole.” He quickly made up a plausible story, and hoped it corroborated with whatever information Rosetta had gleaned.

  
“Descole seemed like a very interesting individual. It would have been a pleasure to meet him.” She said this as if she knew more than she was leading on.

  
“He was a very dangerous man; you should be relieved that you never had the misfortune of meeting him.”

  
Just how much did this girl know?! Desmond couldn’t let himself slip up on a vital piece of information now.

  
“Oh, that’s such a shame…” Rosetta pouted, “I’m certain you know some details of what happened though, right? Put me out of my misery, Professor S, the student body relies on me to put rumours to rest.”

  
She stepped closer to him again, effectively trapping him by a fossil on display.

  
Desmond felt his cheeks flush red and Rosetta must have noticed this as her lips were now twisted into a devilish smirk. He looked over to Hershel, but Hershel was otherwise occupied, so a silent call for help would have been utterly futile.

  
“Come on, Desmond, tell me everything you know.”

  
“Miss Stone, I must protest. Your behaviour is totally out of line for a classroom.” Desmond stumbled on his words, and the reprimanding was nowhere near as threatening as it could have been.

  
It was times like this that Desmond did regret giving up his mask, but he had to remind himself that not every issue could be solved with a swish of a cape, the flash of a sword, and disappearing once again.

  
“Ah, but you aren’t my teacher.” Rosetta smiled, eyes trained on him.

  
Desmond tried to move away, but Rosetta only moved closer towards him.

  
“I may not be your teacher, but I am your teacher’s brother, and I am a professor myself.”

  
“But you in no way have authority over me.”

  
It was getting more and more difficult for Desmond to control his temper, and in turn, harder to keep his old persona from taking over.

  
“Rosetta, please stop this.”

  
“Why, scared you can’t cope?” Her voice was as flirtatious as ever.

  
Desmond was half blushed, half red-faced from anger. He tried to distract himself by cleaning his steamed up glasses.

  
Stay calm, stay calm… He repeated to himself, a constant mantra of determined relaxation.

  
“All you have to do is tell me what you know, Desmond…” Her voice was singsongy, and she was still maintaining a deceptively sweet smile.

  
“I can’t. Not here. Someone might overhear.”

  
He knew his wording was a terrible mistake as soon as the words came out, but he had already said them, so all he could do was silently hope that Rosetta wouldn’t take them in the wrong way.

  
Rosetta raised an eyebrow and smiled, pleased with her apparent result.

  
“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” She said, half to herself.

  
Desmond inwardly groaned, cursing his clumsy wording.

  
“Well then, Desmond, we can always take this elsewhere.” She suggested with a light voice, taking a small step back and examining her nails.

  
Desmond gave up. There was no avoiding her, so he would just have to play along with her little game until he could find an opportunity to escape.

  
“Fine. Where do you suggest?” He asked flatly.

  
Rosetta was amazed, not that she showed it. Never before had her tactics worked so well.

  
“I know a darling little park. It’s ever so secluded, and no one ever hangs around there.” She suggested, the flirty smile returning, “Or, of course, there are many unused classrooms and lecture halls at the back of campus.”

  
Desmond felt like he was sweating bullets.

  
“I probably shouldn’t go too far. And I should probably explain to the professor where I’m going...” He was cut off by a silencing finger to his lips.

  
“Shh. Follow me,” Rosetta said, taking his hand and leading him towards the door.

  
Desmond was absolutely bemused, and slightly terrified. He’d done some things in his time, but this was ridiculous. Plus, that had all been as Descole! He thought assuming a civilian life again would have stopped madness like this.

  
“Where are we going to g-”

  
“Ah-ah, you’ll find out when we get there, Desmond.” Rosetta wagged her finger at him, tutting.

  
Desmond looked over to Hershel, but he was still talking to the students, so would therefore be unable to help Desmond out of his current situation.

  
However, part of Desmond was relieved that Hershel didn’t see him leave the room with Rosetta; he wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

  
His hands felt unnaturally clammy, and when he looked down at Rosetta, he noticed quite how pale he was.

  
“Now, now, there’s no need to be nervous.”

  
Rosetta had noticed too, then. Desmond mentally let off a string of swear words, and they circled his mind until they reached Rosetta’s destination.

  
It turned out she had taken him to an empty classroom. One that looked as if it hadn’t been used in a good while. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t locked. But Desmond supposed that she already knew that.

  
Rosetta led him in and quickly shut the door, leaning against it.

  
“Well then, Desmond, here we are.” She smirked at him, “Now… What was it you were going to say? No one will be overhearing you here.”

  
She fluttered her eyelashes.

  
“I’ve met Descole, and you’re right on one thing, he was a very interesting person. But he was a very dangerous individual. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.”

  
Desmond felt strange talking about himself as if he was a completely different person, not just an alternate personality.

  
Rosetta hummed.

  
“That seems like rather little to want to come all the way here for… Are you sure there wasn’t anything else you wanted to say?” She asked.

  
She was set on getting all the information she could from Desmond, not matter how long it took her. She stepped once again towards him, not breaking eye contact once.

  
“Nothing at all?”

  
Desmond knew what information she was pushing for, but he wasn’t at all prepared to say it.

  
“Nothing at all. Unless there’s anything else you wish to ask me?”

  
“Oh, well I want to ask you a lot of things…” Rosetta smiled sweetly up at the Professor, attempting yet again to use flirtation to her advantage, “‘How do you look so handsome?’, for one. Another: 'Why haven’t you got a ring on your finger?’ That’s simply a disgrace.” She stepped into his personal space again, “And a third: 'Who exactly are you? Really?’”

  
“Those are some awfully personal questions, Miss Stone. I don’t think I feel comfortable answering them.”

  
“Oh, come now, don’t be shy. It’s only little old me that’s asking. I promise I don’t bite.”

  
Desmond took a step backwards and found himself against a desk. He held onto it for support.

  
“It may be ‘little old you’ that is asking, Miss, but I haven’t known you for even an hour. And I believe that this is terribly inappropriate conduct for a student.” He said, praying to any and all gods - Azran or otherwise - that she would give up soon.

  
Rosetta pouted.

  
“Just tell me what I want to know, and then I’ll perhaps consider leaving you alone,” Rosetta said, seeming more threatening than friendly at this point.

  
“You know what? Fine,” Desmond felt his calm exterior breaking, rage seeping through the cracks, “I don’t have a ring on my finger because my wife is dead, along with my daughter. Who I am really is Professor Desmond Sycamore, brother of Professor Hershel Layton. That is all the information that you have the right to know.”

  
Desmond now realised that he was staring down at Rosetta with his fists clenched and his eyes filled with anger. Her confident and cocky demeanour had now faded and she looked almost frightened.

  
“Happy?” He finished, managing to move past the young woman with comparative ease.

  
Rosetta stared at him, eyes wide. She had not expected that. As he had spoken, his voice had risen to near shouting volumes, and he had glared at her with such ferocity.

  
“I-I… I…” She stammered, backing away from the professor.

  
“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to raise my voice,” he said, calming down now.

  
“It’s fine. You told me everything I wanted to know.”

  
She was smirking again now. Desmond wasn’t sure why, but it made him nervous nonetheless. Once again, she had a look about her that made it seem like she knew more than she’d explicitly been told.

  
“However, Miss Stone,” Desmond acted completely without planning, and stepped so he was blocking the exit to the room, “‘Question for a question’, as you put it earlier. Why do you want to know this? And how much do you know already?”

  
He recollected himself and watched the student’s every move.

  
“I’m just simply very curious, Desmond,” she replied with a smile.

  
“And? What do you already know?”

  
“Well, I had a sneaking suspicion already, but going off your sudden outburst just now...”

  
Desmond knew what she was going to say, but nothing could have prepared him for it.

  
“You’re Jean Descole, aren’t you?”

  
Desmond swore. This time he couldn’t hold it back. Now he knew what Hershel meant, why he was really keeping her in his lessons. Hershel had never noticed it, and he had seen him as Descole! This girl was clever.

  
Very clever.

  
“I was.” Desmond confirmed, sighing and adjusting his glasses, “And I would hate to take up the persona again; but if that little bit of information finds its way to the ears of anyone else, I will be forced to, and it will not be pretty.”

  
Desmond couldn’t risk having both his lives crash down around him again, and though the threat was empty, he felt he had to make it, just in case.

  
Rosetta now had a smug grin adorning her features. She had known it all along, of course, but now that it was confirmed by the man himself, she couldn’t help but feel overjoyed.

  
“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, “I won’t tell anyone. Provided you do me a small favour.”

  
“And what favour would that be?”

  
“Oh, just a little something; nothing that would greatly inconvenience you at all.” Rosetta smiled, looking at her reflection in a shiny mirror and absentmindedly fixing her clothes.

  
“Yes, but what…?” Desmond raised an eyebrow.

  
“Kiss me. Just once. To make Professor L jealous.”

  
Desmond was frozen in place. He couldn’t think of anything to say to this. He just stared at her, half trying not to laugh, half trying to think of a response.

  
“Wh-what?” He laughed out at last, staring at the girl incredulously, “That would be wholly inappropriate in a number of ways, Miss Stone!”

  
Rosetta was now fixing her make up in the window’s reflection.

  
“It’s that or I go to the press with this.” She said nonchalantly as she pulled a recorder from her pocket.

  
Blackmail?! This young woman was… terrifying, for lack of a better word.

  
“You wouldn’t dare.”

  
“Oh, but I would.”

  
“Is there nothing else I could do? Maybe something a tad more appropriate.”

  
“Nope. Nothing.”

  
Desmond had to admit, she had put him in a very compromising position indeed, one that he couldn’t worm his way out of.

  
“Fine. If there’s nothing else, then I’ll do it.”

  
“I thought so.” Rosetta said, tucking the recorder back in her pocket and seating herself on the desk so there would be less of a height difference between the two of them; she’d always been regrettably short.

  
Desmond hesitated by the door. He could still run for it, take off before anyone found out…

  
No. He was starting a new life; he wouldn’t let this… this… this manipulative sneak ruin it for him.

  
Rosetta cleared her throat, fixing her hair, “I’m waiting, Desmond…”

  
“I thought you said you wanted me to do this to make Layton jealous? What use is it doing it here?”

  
Rosetta had gotten carried away with her excitement that she’d actually forgotten her intended favour. Both of the professors were equally attractive, so it wasn’t hard to get over excited at the prospect of kissing one of them.

  
“Oh, yes, of course!” She quickly said, getting back on her feet, “We should go back to his lecture hall then.”

  
Rosetta led the way back to the lecture hall with considerably more spring in her step. Desmond was glad to see the workshop had finished, and that the people attending had vanished in their absence. Inside, Hershel looked somewhat preoccupied with his thoughts as he packed away the few exhibits that had been set up.

  
“And you’re certain there’s no other way I can stop that recording going to press?” Desmond thought it was worth a last shot.

  
Rosetta giggled and shook her head.

  
“Only a kiss can seal the deal,” she said, smiling flirtatiously up at him.

  
Rosetta opened the door to the room and practically sang her greeting to the younger professor.

  
“Oh! Hello, Miss Stone,” he noticed Desmond was with her, “Where have you two been?”

  
“Oh, we were just talking more privately about some rather fantastic Azran findings. The whole civilisation is just so fascinating!” She trilled.

  
Seating herself on a desk and again checking her reflection in a window, Rosetta prepared. She only had one shot at this, so she had to make it count.

  
“Ah, interesting.” The younger professor nodded with approval, having no idea what his brother was about to do.

  
“You know,” she carried on, “I think you should do more lectures on the Azran.”

  
Hershel was now looking straight at her, which provided the perfect conditions for her plan. She gave a silent signal to Desmond, and he acted upon it, less than willingly, however.

  
He strolled over to her and cupped her cheek with one hand and her waist with the other, pulling her closer. His lips met hers and they kissed for a long moment.

  
Hershel made a noise akin to that of the Laytonmobile breaking down, and stared as his brother held his student in what looked to be a rather fond embrace.

  
“D-Desmond!” Hershel choked out, unable to look away.

  
Rosetta smirked as they moved apart, a little dazed from the fact she’d just kissed Professor Desmond Sycamore, and raised an eyebrow at Hershel.

  
“No reprimands for me, I see.” She noted, hopping off the desk and savouring the looks on each professor’s face before striding out of the room to listen to the fallout of that moment.

  
Hershel was left staring at Desmond with his mouth hanging open in shock. He could barely believe what had just happened despite it happening in front of his very eyes.

  
“I... I can explain,” Desmond said calmly.

  
“I rather think you should…” Hershel said, still unable to close his mouth properly.

  
Desmond wiped his mouth in disgust, knowing he had traces of lipstick on his own lips now.

  
“She knows who I am. And she has recorded evidence.” He snapped bitterly.

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“She knows that I was Descole, and she threatened to go to the press with it unless I did... that.”

  
Hershel now turned his attention to the frosted glass door, outside of which was the unmistakeable figure of Rosetta.

  
“That’s… scarily intelligent.”

  
“My thoughts exactly.”

  
Desmond made a face.

  
“Miss Stone, we’re both aware you’re listening. Please just save us the time and enter again,” Hershel called out to the girl sat in the hallway.

  
She came back in the room almost immediately, with a cocky smirk dominating her face.

  
“Are you gentlemen talking about me?” She asked in an extremely confident tone of voice.

  
“What did you hope to achieve from that, Miss Stone?” Hershel cut to the chase, raising his eyebrows as he continued to pack up.

  
“Oh, I’m sure you know.” Rosetta flirted, winking at the two men.

  
“It’s a rather superficial reason to risk your education, if you ask my opinion. I’m very disappointed in you.” The younger professor continued, not flustered at all by her actions now.

  
Desmond, meanwhile, was stood leaning against a desk, staring at the floor, and looking like a small child that had just been told off in school.

  
“Hey,” Rosetta called to him, “What’s up with you?”

  
Silence.

  
She tried again, in a more flirtatious voice, “Desmond? What’s wrong?”

  
Desmond felt the anger inside him flare up again.

  
“You will address me as Professor Sycamore, and nothing else. Do you understand?” He snarled.

  
Rosetta was shocked by the return of his angry demeanour, and blinked.

  
“Well then, Professor Sycamore - ooh that actually sounds much nicer than plain old Desmond,” she didn’t let up on her flirtation, “More… mature.”

  
Now even Hershel was irked.

  
“Miss Stone, I must ask you to stop, this instant. Return that recorder to me, or do not return to this lecture hall.”

  
“You wouldn’t really kick me out, would you, Professor L?” She said as she batted her eyelashes at him.

  
“It’s Professor Layton, thank you very much, and if you don’t hand over that recorder, I will be forced to.”

  
Rosetta grumbled, fishing the recorder from her pocket.

  
“How about an exchange?” She suggested, turning to Hershel with a coy smile on her face.

  
“The only exchange here, Miss Stone, is that recorder for your place on this course.” Hershel said stonily.

  
He held out his hand for her to put the recorder in. Rosetta murmured something to herself as she handed it over to Hershel.

  
“Thank you, Miss Stone. Now, I will see you in your next lecture, but I do not expect to see you at any other point. Do I make myself clear?”

  
“Yes, Professor Layton.” She snapped.

  
Rosetta folded her arms and turned around, hips swaying as she left the room.

  
“Later, Desmond. Later, Hershel!” She called over her shoulder before slamming the door.

  
Hershel let out a deep sigh and turned to Desmond.

  
“Why would you do something like that?” He asked.

  
“It was in my best interest, Hershel!” Desmond snapped, having not completely calmed down yet.

  
“You could have told me, Desmond. I’m certain she wouldn’t have gone to the press there and then. It may all have been a bluff anyway. You’d better hope no one believes her when she says she kissed Professor Sycamore.”

  
Hershel examined the recorder, looking at the cassette in it and noticing something.

  
“Shall we hear what it has to say?” He suggested, finding the play button.

  
“If we must.”

  
Hershel pressed play on the recorder and the tape inside the cassette began to move. The two professors listened for a good few moments, but there was nothing but silence.

  
Desmond’s facial expression shifted to one that was a unique blend of anger and confusion.

  
“She was bluffing?” He almost shouted.

  
“I suspected something of the sort.” Hershel said gravely, “She may be many things, manipulative, sneaky, unfortunately clever… But she isn’t quite evil, not enough to destroy someone’s life like that, I don’t think.”

  
Desmond hit the table in frustration.

  
“That little minx!” He growled, eyebrows furrowed as he glared at the recorder.

  
“Calm down, Desmond. There’s nothing to be done about it now. She knows that she did wrong, and if she does anything like that again, she knows she will have to face the consequences.”

  
“I can’t believe I kissed that little... that little... witch!”

  
Desmond looked like he was about to punch something, and had Rosetta still been in the room, it would have probably been her that he punched.

  
Hershel sighed, wondering the best way to placate his brother.

  
“I think it’s best we take a break for lunch.” He suggested, putting the recorder in his desk and locking it, “There’ll be hell to pay at Flora’s hand if we don’t eat.”

  
Desmond closed his eyes and nodded in agreement, breathing heavily but trying his best to regulate his breaths.


	3. Chapter 3

They made their way to the staff room, the lunches that Flora made them in hand, greeting several students on their way.

  
Of course, there was always going be gossip and chatter in any place where young adults were contained.

  
“Look at that Professor Sycamore.”

  
“Man, I wouldn’t be ‘Sycamore’ of him around.”

  
“Eye candy, much?”

  
A group of students were commenting on this as the two professors entered the staff room, and Desmond was becoming more on edge by the moment. He didn’t speak much at all throughout their lunch break, and when he did it was more often than not just single word responses to something Hershel had said.

  
“I only have one more lecture today.” Hershel commented, finishing an apple and smiling out the window, “Then we can go home.”

  
Desmond made a sound of acknowledgement, then went back to the sandwich Flora had made him. It was surprisingly nice.

  
“Don’t worry, Desmond,” Hershel started, “Rosetta won’t bother you again. Not unless she wants to risk being kicked out of the university entirely.”

  
“Would that be such a bad thing?” Desmond chuckled.

  
“I suppose not.” Hershel responded, glad to see his brother cheering up.

  
He tossed away the paper bag his lunch had been packed in, and hummed.

  
“That young woman is an endless source of frustration for me.” The younger professor mused, “If only she could focus on something more than her… ‘infatuations’… I’m certain she could be so much more than an archaeology student.”

  
“She’s certainly bright enough to pursue a career in archaeology.”

  
“Frighteningly bright. She is a good student, she always hands her work in on time and it’s always of excellent quality. She just needs to keep her mind focused on the right things.”

  
“That certainly seems to be her downfall.” Desmond hummed and finished his own lunch, “If only there were a way to remedy it.”

  
Hershel stood.

  
“We can always hope.” He agreed.

  
They made their way back to the lecture hall after Desmond had finished the last of his lunch.

  
Luckily the class that Hershel was teaching next was a different one, but unfortunately for Desmond, they would most likely have more questions for him.

  
Hershel began the spiel again, smiling placidly at his class.

  
“This is my brother, Desmond Sycamore. He’s an expert on the Azran, and he’ll be able to answer a lot of the questions you’ve had about them.”

  
Both brothers hoped that the more professional introduction would do better than before.

  
The questions that the students asked were much more based on the subject of the Azran than the ones that the previous class had asked. Desmond figured that this was because of gossip; the information of his distress at the more personal questions must have been spread.

  
“And that’s a few of the many reasons the Azran are still such a mysterious race, even with all of our research into them.” Desmond concluded his final response just moments before the end of the lecture, smiling.

  
He was much more at ease with this class, and settling comfortably back into the idea of teaching.

  
When the lecture had finished and the students were leaving, Desmond said a warm goodbye to each and every one of them. They all left with a smile on their faces and were all discussing the Azran and how much they now admired the great Professor Sycamore.

  
Hershel smiled warmly at his brother, glad the much more successful lesson had cheered him up.

  
“Well then, Desmond, you seem to be settling right in here.” He said with a chuckle, gathering up homework essays to mark.

  
The older professor turned to Hershel.

  
“When a class isn’t asking your marital status, they’re rather more fun to teach.” He commented with a nod.

  
“No disrespect to my other class, of course, but this class is the one that tends to take things more seriously. Both are equally intelligent, but in the long run, attitude is just as important.”

  
Desmond smiled in agreement.

  
“Certainly.” He nodded, “Now, shall we go?”

  
Layton checked his pocket watch. It was nearly the time that Flora’s school finished.

  
“What do you say about picking up Flora from school?”

  
“Sounds like a plan,” Desmond beamed, partly because he was happy to get out of the university. He didn’t mind talking to most of the students, but teaching was something he wasn’t used to anymore.

  
They left the university, both of the professors warily looking out for a certain student who ought to have a degree in trickery.

  
The drive wasn’t far to Flora’s school, as it was connected to the college and university. They reached the gates just as she came out, looking to see if the familiar red car was picking her up today.

  
“Professor! Desmond!” She jumped happily and skipped to the car, bobbing and weaving past younger students.

  
She looked very different in her uniform, Desmond noticed; he was already fond of his niece. She looked much younger, and, to be honest, much more like a normal young girl.

  
“Hello, Flora,” Desmond was the first to greet her, “How was your day?”

  
“It was okay, I guess. Just like any other day really,” she replied with a small chuckle.

  
“That’s good.”

  
“How was your day?”

  
“It was… eventful.” Desmond responded, adjusting his glasses and trying not to blush.

  
Flora looked between the professors as they shared a knowing glance.

  
“What happened?” She asked, strapping herself into the rickety car.

  
“Do you remember Rosetta Stone, Flora?” Hershel asked her.

  
“Uhm, yeah, I think so,” she replied in a thoughtful voice.

  
“Well, she got some rather personal information out of Desmond.”

  
Flora tilted her head.

  
“That’s not very good,” she guessed, but then caught the tone in his voice, “O-Oh! You mean she worked out…”

  
“Who I was, yes,” Desmond confirmed, looking vaguely embarrassed.

  
“That’s certainly not good then… But that isn’t all.”

  
She looked her father in the eye, having picked up on his perceptive skills very quickly.

  
“You’re not saying something.”

  
“Flora, dear, I don’t think he wants to...”

  
“No, it’s fine, Hershel, I’ll tell her. She’d probably work it out on her own eventually anyway,” Desmond smiled at her.

  
Flora blushed at the compliment and eagerly waited to hear what Desmond had to say.

  
“Rosetta told me that she had me saying that I was Descole recorded, and that she would go to the press with it unless I did her a favour.”

  
“What? That’s terrible!” Flora looked outraged, but continued to wonder what the favour was.

  
The problem with growing up in a village of robots was that their tones of voice were very unvaried. Flora was still to pick up quickly on more subtle tones.

  
“‘A favour’…” She pondered, “Oh! A… 'favour’.”

  
Her thoughts were confirmed with a quick nod, and she gasped again.

  
“How dare she!”

  
“I couldn’t agree more, Flora,” Desmond said.

  
“She really needs a firm talking to!”

  
Hershel laughed lightly at this, “Don’t you worry, my dear, I assure you that we’ve taken care of that.”

  
It was quite sweet how protective Flora was of people. She might have only been young, but she definitely had a darker side to her. Hershel had told her that a lady shouldn’t pick fights, but she decided that there was nothing wrong with finishing them.

  
Flora ‘hmph'ed and folded her arms. How dare someone do that to anyone, let alone her- her what exactly? It would be… Uncle, yes. How dare anyone put her Uncle Desmond in that position! Unfortunately, her annoyance was not enough to keep her warm in the terribly cold car, and nor were her thick tights.

  
“Professor, I’m freezing… Can’t you turn on the heating?” She wheedled.

  
“Flora, my dear, the Laytonmobile doesn’t have heating; we’ve been over this.” Hershel chuckled, “We’re nearly home, anyway.”

  
As soon as they arrived, Flora made a beeline for the front door and practically shot up the stairs to the professor’s flat. She was pretty much gone in a flash. Of course, Hershel was used to her rushing off, but Desmond wasn’t.

  
“Where did Flora go? She was here a second ago,” the older professor asked.

  
Hershel just laughed in response, leaving Desmond even more confused.

  
By the time they arrived on the floor of Hershel’s flat, Flora had already changed out of her blazer and skirt combo, and was dressed in her favourite outfit, accessorising with an apron as she checked on the stew she’d started slow cooking before going to school.

  
“That smells fantastic, Flora.” Desmond smiled at her.

  
“Thanks, Uncle Desmond!” Flora chirped, unaware she’d just used the new term out loud.

  
But this phrase didn’t slip by completely unnoticed. It warmed Desmond’s heart and it struck him for the first time that he had a proper family now; it wasn’t just him anymore.  
“You’re welcome, sweetpea.” He responded warmly, using a term of endearment he had only ever used with one other person: his daughter.

  
Hershel smiled at the exchange, but did not comment, for fear of embarrassing his brother. Letting Flora stay up to get used to Desmond had certainly been the right decision.  
Dinner was a lot more alive with conversation than it was the night before. Flora was recounting the events of her day at school, Hershel was discussing how his lectures went, and they were all laughing at Rosetta. Flora was still angry at her, but couldn’t help her amusement at how ridiculous what she did was.

  
“Oh, Professor, before I forget!”

  
Flora quickly jumped up from the table during a lapse in the conversation.

  
“They’re asking for people to bring cakes in for the fair tomorrow. Could you help me make one?” She requested, passing the letter to Hershel.

  
Hershel browsed over it and hummed thoughtfully.

  
“I can’t say I’m overly proficient at baking, dear.” He said hesitantly, not wanting to disappoint her.

  
“Oh,” she said, looking down at her feet.

  
“Hey, don’t look so down,” Desmond said, smiling at her, “I can bake, I’ll help you.”

  
Flora practically jumped with excitement as she looked back up at Desmond.

  
She bounded towards the kitchen area, “I’ll get the recipe book and the ingredients out!”

  
Desmond stood and made himself useful, clearing the side as Hershel washed up the bowls from the early supper.

  
“What’s your favourite kind of cake then, Flora?” Desmond asked as she began to flick through the recipe book.

  
“Good old Victoria Sponge, of course!” She giggled.

  
“Ah, perfect for someone as sweet as you,” he teased her.

  
Flora’s smile was as bright as the sun at this point. She had never been very close to her biological uncles, but with Desmond she truly felt happy.

  
So the two set about with their baking, Hershel cleaning up after them as they went along. They had the radio playing, so every so often someone would sing along into a spoon and make the other laugh until their sides nearly split. This evening made Desmond completely forget about the stressful day he’d had.

  
“And now, we wait.” Desmond said when they slid the cake into the oven and finished preparing the icing.

  
Flora danced around the kitchen in a daze of happiness, tidying up ingredients they’d left out, and wiping down the sides.

  
“Would you two like some tea?” Hershel offered, glad to see his family in such good moods.

  
“Yes please, Professor!” Flora beamed as she took off her apron and dusted down the skirt of her dress.

  
“Yorkshire, please, Hershel.” Desmond nodded as he sat down, opening the day’s paper.

  
All three of them sat there in peaceful silence, just listening to the radio and drinking their tea. There could have been a riot going on outside, but they wouldn’t have noticed. It was like they were in their own little bubble, happy as can be.

  
At least until the music was interrupted by a breaking news story.

  
“We are sorry to interrupt,” said the voice on the radio, “But we have an important piece of information that has just been shared with us by an anonymous source.”

  
Desmond looked up from his newspaper. He knew what the radio was about to say. Oh, how much he wanted to just disappear at this very moment.

  
Hershel paled, and quickly turned the radio up. Flora stopped in the middle of her sudoku.

  
“Earlier today police were informed by this anonymous source that menace of many a place, Jean Descole, is very much alive, and hiding right under our noses, here in London. He is said to have taken a disguise as regular citizen and renowned archaeologist, Professor Desmond Sycamore. Described as having brown hair and red eyes, with red-framed glasses, if you see this man on the street, do not approach him. He is known to be dangero- ah, wait, more information is coming in. We now have confirmation. This is certain, and there is audio to prove it. June, roll the tape.”

  
“Shit,” Desmond muttered under his breath as the radio crackled, the audio source beginning to play.

  
“’You’re Jean Descole, aren’t you?’” “’I was. And I would hate to take up the persona again; but if that little bit of information finds its way to the ears of anyone else, I will be forced to, and it will not be pretty.’”

  
Hershel winced at the sound of the threat; there was no twisting that one. Flora was frozen in her spot, but shook away the shock and stood from her chair. In a split second she had pulled her uncle into a hug, and when she spoke, she sounded close to tears.

  
“Please don’t have to leave!” She sniffed, burying her face in his shoulder.

  
The radio played on in the background, explaining that raids would now be occurring on known ‘criminal hideouts’.

  
“They’ll come to you for help; you know that, Hershel,” Desmond said, stroking Flora’s hair soothingly, “It’ll be alright, sweetpea,” he tried to assure her.

  
“I know. But I can’t say no to them because they’ll become suspicious,” Hershel told his brother, his voice filled with regret, “I’m sorry.”

  
“I have to go. I can’t stay here, you two have nothing to do with this. This is all on me, I can’t risk your safety.”

  
Flora shook her head.

  
“They can’t prosecute me; I’m a minor!” She argued, still clinging to Desmond, “I’ll come with you; I- I can cook, and clean, and sew! I’ll be useful!”

  
Desmond sighed. She really did remind him of her daughter. Too much.

  
“Flora, listen to yourself. You’re an intelligent girl, and I never want you to forget that. If you were to throw away the chance that Hershel has given you to live with him, just to run off with me, a wanted criminal you’ve known for less than 24 hours, I’d never forgive myself,” Desmond put a hand on her shoulder, “You know I can’t stay…”

  
“I’ll tell the police the truth then! I’ll tell them you’re the Professor’s brother, and you’re kind and caring and that you’ve changed since your Descole days!” Flora sniffled and tried desperately to hold back her tears.

  
“He’s right, Flora,” Hershel chimed in.

  
“What? But you’re his brother! You have to help him!”

  
“I will help him, I’m not sure how yet, but I will, I promise you.”

  
“I have to go now, while it’s dark. It’ll be easier to hide that way. I’m sorry Flora. I’m sorry Hershel. I’m sorry I came back and brought this mess with me.”

  
With his last few words, Desmond left the flat. Flora desperately wanted to go after him, but deep down she knew it was for the best that she didn’t.

  
In the heavy silence left by the quiet click of the door, only Hershel’s sigh and Flora’s sniffling could be heard. She sat in Hershel’s lap and wiped away silent tears.

  
The oven timer went off, shattering the silence as if it were glass. Neither party had the motivation in that moment to stand and turn it off.

  
“Where is he going to go?” Flora asked through laboured breaths.

  
“I don’t know. Wherever he can, I suppose.”

  
Hershel was so close to having a brother again, and Desmond was so close to having a functional life again. To both brothers it seemed like fate was tempting them and then knocking them back down when they got too close to being happy.

  
“The police won’t call on my help until morning, Flora,” Hershel rubbed her back soothingly, a trick that had always worked on him as a child, “Best get some sleep; you’ll not be at school tomorrow if you wish to help in my ‘investigation’.”

  
Flora looked up in surprise.

  
“You mean it? I can help?” She blinked away her tears, eyes now shining with excitement.

  
“Certainly, my dear. After all, a gentleman always needs the help of a greatly intelligent young lady.”

  
Hershel tipped his hat at Flora, trying his best to cheer her up.

  
“I should get some sleep then. I don’t want to be tired tomorrow, I’ll need to be fully focused!”

  
Hershel didn’t think he’d ever seen her so thrilled to go to sleep. She was an intelligent girl, and, when times called for it, a good liar. This would prove to be a valuable asset in this situation.

  
“Goodnight, Professor,” she called from her bedroom.

  
“Goodnight, Flora,” he called back.

  
Hershel took the cake from the oven - it thankfully wasn’t burnt - but decided not to ice it. He was exhausted, and did not have the first idea how to go about it anyway. He finished tidying and retired to his bedroom with a strange mix of emotions swirling in his head.

 


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, Hershel awoke with a headache and heavy eyes. He hadn’t slept very well at all.

  
Flora was up and about before he was, and it looked like she had been awake for a while. She was already dressed and had had her breakfast. She was intently listening to the news broadcast on the radio.

  
“Police have been searching London and the surrounding area since sunrise,” she informed Hershel, copying what she had just heard word for word.

  
“Goo’ mornin’.” Hershel’s voice cracked as he mumbled a greeting.

  
Flora instantly took on a look of concern. She jumped up to fetch the Professor his morning tea and some painkillers, knowing by now the signs of her father’s bad sleep. He hadn’t even noticed her ‘mystery-solving clothing’ (consisting of her school blazer and a nice shirt, along with a 'cute’ pair of trousers good for running in), which worried her greatly.

  
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” She asked him, although she already knew the answer.

  
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. We have to focus on the task at hand!”

  
He was over tired. He acted as if he was ready to start the day and ‘assist’ an investigation, but Flora could see right through it.

  
“Only if you’re ready to,” she told him, although she may not have said it loud enough for him to actually hear.

  
Hershel rubbed his eyes free of sleep and sipped his Earl Grey, listening intently to the radio.

  
“Police say that they will be contacting all known associates of both Desmond Sycamore and Jean Descole. So far no concrete leads have been found, but criminal ‘rats’ have given what may be good starting points to an investigation.”

  
Hershel rubbed his chin thoughtfully as the tea began to wake him up.

  
“We should expect someone to contact us any minute now,” he told Flora, his powers of deduction beginning to wake up as he did.

  
“You should probably answer it then, they’ll trust you more.”

  
And sure enough, the phone started to ring. Hershel got up from his seat and went to pick it up.

  
“Hello, Hershel Layton speaking,” he told the person on the other end of the line.

  
“Layton, I ‘spect you’ve heard the news, right?” The dulcet tones of Inspector Chelmey greeted him, “That archaeology fella is actually your arch nemesis, that one.”

  
“Yes, I have heard. It’s a terrible shame. Professor Sycamore was a great mind.” Hershel commiserated, prepared to take notes.

  
Flora was rushing around the house, packing up the Professor’s briefcase, and her own small satchel, given to her only a few days ago by Luke.

  
“Ready to go!” She mouthed to the Professor when she returned, having packed lunches for the two of them.

  
“Well,” Chelmey continued, “Since he was with you all day yesterday, we’re going to have to call you in for questioning.”

  
“Yes, I understand. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  
He hung up the phone and sighed to himself. He then turned to Flora.

  
“You know this isn’t going to be easy?”

  
“I know, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

  
He couldn’t help but admire her enthusiasm in this rather dismal situation.

  
The ride to Scotland Yard, which was a good fifteen-twenty minutes in morning traffic, was a rather boring one, save for the constant, mostly meaningless chatter and songs of the radio. Occasionally they would bring up the subject, but with so little information, it was difficult to hold a full conversation on it. Hershel’s name was banded around a little, and one presenter wondered if he’d be available for interview. Flora shifted in her seat and stared out the window, biting her lip. As much as she was determined to do what was right, she was terrified of getting something wrong. Hershel noticed her fidgeting out the corner of his eye and put a hand on her shoulder.

  
“You’ll do just fine, dear, I promise you.” He assured.

  
“Do you really think so? I’m so worried, what if something bad happens? What if they find him? What if they arrest you?” The questions flooded from her mouth so fast it was almost impossible to tell what she was saying.

  
“We’ll sort all of this out, don’t you worry. Have I ever failed you before?” He smiled at her, trying his hardest to calm her down and reassure her.

  
“I suppose not.”

  
“And Flora…”

  
She looked up at Hershel.

  
“Believe in yourself too. You’re an extraordinarily smart young lady, and you know how to apply it, to boot. You may well end up holding the key to the entire case’s resolution, and I trust you totally with that.” He continued, taking her hand with the one not guiding the car through painfully slow traffic.

  
When they eventually arrived at Scotland Yard, Chelmey was waiting outside for them. Father and daughter got out of the car at the same time and Hershel went to greet the inspector.

  
“I didn’t realise you were bringing a friend,” Chelmey said to him.

  
“I thought she could be of aid,” Hershel explained.

  
Chelmey just shrugged and lead Hershel and Flora inside.

  
Hershel’s final words to her were still ringing in Flora’s ears as she walked along the corridors.

  
‘Remember,’ He had suggested an alibi, 'They have no idea he and I are related, or how closely. All that happened last night was that he dropped by for a short chat, and lost track of the time. He and I had a few glasses of wine, and the Professor didn’t want to drive back under the influence, so he stayed the night. Yesterday, we were in a discussion about the Azran and I invited him for tea, then he went home, before the news bulletin dropped. After that, you and I made a cake together.’

  
“Just friends, dropped by for a chat…” Flora mumbled information to herself under her breath like a mantra.

  
The questioning room was small and plain, mainly decorated in dull greys with a single table surrounded by four chairs. Chelmey, Hershel and Flora all sat down as another policeman positioned himself by the door.

  
“Right, so what’s your connection to Sycamore?”

  
“We’re good friends through work,” the professor answered promptly, “He is a veritable genius on many archaeological mysteries, so when I want an intellectual discussion, I go to him.”

  
“And you?” Chelmey looked to Flora, still noting down what Hershel had said.

  
“Oh, I met him for the first time the other night, actually,” she answered, a perfect half-lie coming to mind almost instantly, “Usually the Professor - that is, my Professor - and him talk at the university, or at a cafe.”

  
“And have you met him yourself?”

  
“Yes, he came round for a chat just the other night.”

  
“What was this chat about?”

  
“The Azran.”

  
Chelmey huffed. He didn’t look like he believed what Flora was saying, even though she never faltered or showed any body language that would reveal that she was lying.

  
Flora noticed this and inwardly sighed before nearly staring the inspector down, just enough to unnerve him, no more.

  
“Was there another question you wanted to ask me, Inspector?” She asked, unblinking.

  
“No, but if you wouldn’t mind stepping outside, I have some more questions for Layton,” Chelmey replied, not looking at her.

  
Flora wasn’t happy with this as she wanted to help the professor, but she had to do as she was told, so she was escorted out of the room by the policeman at the door, who didn’t come back after this.

  
“What is it you wish to ask me, Inspector?” Hershel asked when the door had shut.

  
“What is your real connection to Sycamore?”

  
“I already told you, he is a fellow archaeologist and a friend, nothing more.”

  
“Come on, Layton, you and I both know that that’s a lie. So what’s the truth?”

  
“I honestly don’t know what you’re implying, Inspector. Perhaps if you had evidence to back up your suspicions…” Hershel hummed, adjusting his hat.

  
It was these sorts of times when the Professor was terribly glad he was good under pressure.

  
But the pressure was building up inside Chelmey, like he was a volcano about to erupt. He knew there was a missing piece to this puzzle, and he wasn’t going to give up until he found it.

  
“Layton, if you don’t tell me the truth about Desmond Sycamore right now, I swear to god...”

  
Hershel coughed, effectively cutting Chelmey off.

  
“Be careful what you say, Inspector. You’re a good man, a clever inspector; I wouldn’t want you getting suspended for an empty threat to someone aiding your investigation,” he placidly challenged, maintaining eye contact with him.

  
Chelmey seemed to twitch.

  
“Layton, you may think you know how to do my job, but don’t you forget that I’m the one that was trained for it,” he responded, voice tight.

  
“And you do your job wonderfully, despite needing my help every so often.”

  
“If the next words to come out of your mouth aren’t related to this case, Layton, I’ll be forced to tell you to leave.”

  
“I’ll repeat what I said: ‘he is an archaeologist and a friend’.” Layton said calmly, “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  
Chelmey ground his fist into the table, growling in annoyance.

  
“There is obviously something you’re not telling me, and I’ll be damned if you think I’m not going to get it out of you!”

  
“I’ve told you all I can. Now, if can’t be of any more assistance, should I leave?”

  
“Talk me through exactly what happened from the first time you had contact with him this week,” Chelmey was determined to get something more out of Layton.

  
Hershel folded his arms on the table.

  
“He dropped by for a short chat, and lost track of the time. He and I had a few glasses of wine, and the Professor didn’t want to drive back under the influence, so he stayed the night,” he explained, mimicking exactly what he had said to Flora previously.

  
“And after that?”

  
“Yesterday, he came to the university with me to help with my lecture on the Azran and to meet my students. Then I invited him for tea, then he went home.”

  
“So, close friends, then. How much of this was your kid present for?” Chelmey scribbled down all he said, studying Hershel’s expressions intently.

  
“She was there two evenings ago, part of the chat. We spoke mainly of the Azran; she’s interested in that, you see. She was also there when we had tea yesterday, and saw him leave at about… 6, perhaps?”

  
“I see. I think we should bring her back in.”

  
Chelmey got up out of his chair and went to open the door. He spoke to a policeman who was stood outside, but he didn’t speak loud enough for Hershel to hear. He came back in the room, Flora following behind him.

  
“Professor, is everything alright?” She asked, bouncing over to Hershel and trying to keep a smile on her face.

  
“Of course. Inspector Chelmey just wants to ask you a few more questions, dear.” Hershel nodded, patting her shoulder.

  
“How well do you know Sycamore?” Chelmey asked her.

  
“Uhm... not very well. As I said, I only met him the other night.”

  
“And did your… father ever tell you stories about his old enemy, a one Jean Descole?” Chelmey asked.

  
This hadn’t been a question either had expected, but Flora was quick and clever when it came to lying.

  
“Only very small things. He didn’t want to scare me. I’m sensitive to that sort of thing because of all that happened in St Mystere… and Dropstone… and Future London,” she put on a sad face, preparing crocodile tears.

  
“Oh,” Chelmey said, realising that he had ‘upset’ her, “I’m sorry.”

  
Flora wiped away her forced tears, “It’s okay.”

  
“Good, yes... Now did either of you suspect that Sycamore could have been Jean Descole?”

  
Hershel let Flora answer first, but he would soon come to regret this.

  
“Oh no, Uncle Desmond is really kind!”

  
“‘Uncle Desmond’?”

  
Chelmey stared at Flora, then at Hershel, who was frantically thinking up something to cover this behind his calm mask.

  
“Would you wish to elaborate, Miss Flora?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

  
“O-oh! That’s just what I call friends of the Professor!” Flora’s lie was falling to bits, “Because they’re all so lovely!”

  
“Flora is rather quick to - ahem - get attached to people, you see.” Hershel attempted to add.

  
“Yes! Growing up surrounded by robots can do that to a person,” Flora laughed nervously.

  
She quickly silenced herself and looked down at the table, cursing herself for messing up this badly.

  
“I rather think we ought to be going,” Hershel said hurriedly, “I don’t want Flora getting too upset.”

  
Chelmey grumbled. It still wasn’t enough to hold them for further questioning, especially with a vulnerable minor as one of the people he was attempting to question.

  
“You be sticking around London, Layton.” He snapped, leading them to the door.

  
As the two walked off hurriedly, Chelmey leant over to an officer.

  
“Have someone keep an eye on them.”

  
Hershel and Flora made their way back to the Laytonmobile in silence. Neither one of them wanted to risk saying something that would sound suspicious whilst some members of the police were still in ear shot. They got into the car and started the short journey back home.

  
“I’m sorry, Professor!” Flora blurted as they drove off, “I didn’t think, and I just wanted to protect Unc- Professor Sycamore!” She sniffed, determined not to cry again.

  
“Flora, it’s okay. It was an honest mistake. And besides, nothing bad happened, so you’ve done nothing wrong,” he tried to reassure her.

  
“Really?” She dried her eyes.

  
Hershel nodded, smiling kindly at her.

  
“Everyone makes mistakes.” He reminded her, “As long as we learn from them, there’s no problem at all.”

  
Flora hummed.

  
“So what do we do now?” She asked.

  
“We go home, we have lunch, and we wait. Desmond has our home number; he’ll call if he’s safe. I know him better than he thinks I do, and he wouldn’t leave us in the lurch, especially since he’s come to care about you so much.”

  
Flora smiled now. She had calmed down a considerable amount.

  
When they got back to the flat, Flora didn’t rush up the stairs like she usually did. Instead, he waited for Hershel and they went up together.

  
Upon entering the flat, they were once again greeted by a mystery guest.

  
“Desmond?” They both called in unison.

  
He didn’t look at all well. He was clutching his side in pain and his shirt was bloody. His face was pale and his breathing was incredibly laboured.

  
Flora was by his side in an instant.

  
“What happened, Uncle Desmond?” She hissed, careful to keep her voice down.

  
Desmond convulsed in pain as she attempted to see what was causing it. Hershel forced himself to stay calm, firmly closing and locking the door.

  
“Desmond, can you talk?”

  
“J-just about.”

  
“What happened to you?”

  
“Got in a fight with a homeless person over a sandwich, he had a knife, and it all went a bit tits up from there.”

  
“I knew you shouldn’t have gone,” Flora said sternly.

  
“Sweetpea, go and grab the first-aid kit, hm?” Desmond patted her arm with his unbloodied hand, “I can’t exactly go to hospital now, can I?”

  
Flora nodded understandingly and dashed to the kitchen. Hershel helped Desmond into a safer position, making sure no blood stained the carpet for fear police would trace it back to his brother.

  
“Desmond, we need to get you out of London as soon as you’re mobile.” He said, trying not to panic, “I know someone that can help, but first thing, are you hurt in any other way?”

  
“No, just this. But I think it’s a deep wound.”

  
Flora came rushing back with the first aid kit, and began fumbling to get the bandages out.

  
“Thank you, Flora,” Hershel said, “Now I need you to put some pressure on the wound while I put the bandages on.”

  
“Wait a minute this is going to hur...” Desmond was cut off as Flora pressed down on his wound with a clean towel, causing him to yell in pain.

  
“S-sorry, Uncle Desmond!” Flora yelped, but didn’t remove pressure.

  
“The only advice I can give you is to grin and bear it.” Hershel said, working quickly, “Think of the time you took a laser to the back instead.”

  
Desmond grimaced and cringed as the bandages were applied and tightened.

  
“That will have to do for now, I’m afraid…” Hershel sighed, looking at his fairly shoddy work, “Flora, help Desmond take some painkillers; I need to make a call.”

  
He stood and quickly called a semi-familiar number.

  
“I’m calling up a severe ‘I owe you’, Paul…” He muttered to himself.

  
Flora made sure that the painkillers that Desmond took were the kind that made you drowsy, as she figured that he needed a good rest.

  
“You’re calling Paul?” She asked Hershel, “How’s he going to help us?”

  
“A disguise, dear. Desmond’s face is on every news outlet it can be on; it would be wise to change it,” Hershel smiled, “Then it’s simply a question of actually getting out. The more activity around this flat, the more attention we will gain. We can’t both leave, and Paul - a known criminal - coming here doesn’t exactly seem like the best idea.”

  
Click, the phone was answered.

  
“Layton?”

  
“Hello, Paul. I need a favour. Would it be okay if I came round? I think it’ll be easier to explain what’s going on in person.”

  
“I suppose. But make it quick. I don’t have all the time in the world, you know?”

  
“Thank you, Paul. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  
Hershel ended the call and crouched next to Flora.

  
“You’ll be okay on your own?” He checked, and she nodded, “Good girl. Keep the curtains shut if Desmond gets up and about, act as normal. If anyone asks where I’ve gone, I went to the shop.”

  
Flora nodded again.

  
“I’ll tidy up as best I can while you’re gone.” She answered, looking sadly at a drowsy Desmond.

  
“I’m very proud of you, Flora.”

  
“Thank you, Professor,” she smiled as he got up and left the flat to go and see Paul.

  
Desmond was still slightly conscious, but it would have been pointless to try and initiate a conversation with him. It would be best to just leave him in peace, anyway; to just let him rest. He had obviously been through a lot today.

  
The drive to Paul’s house was much shorter. It had surprised Hershel the first time he’d found out that his self proclaimed ‘rival’ lived so close, but then realised that, all things considered, it made sense he’d want to be able to keep tabs on him.

  
Soon he was at the door, knocking quietly and quickly.

  
“Agh, cease your incessant noise, Layton; I’ve got a horrible hangover.” Paul - who was dressed rather less impressively than usual, in a grey shirt and tracksuit bottoms - opened the door and ushered him into the dark and dusty flat.

  
Like usual, the room was cluttered with machinery, and had a faint metallic smell to it. Hershel wondered who exactly he made these for now he had effectively 'turned good’.

  
“Have you been watching the news lately?” Hershel asked him.

  
“Do I really look like the type of person that watches the news, Layton?”

  
“I suppose not. But have you heard the news story regarding Jean Descole?”

  
“Oh, yes, that’s been spreading like wildfire. Turns out he’s a professor or something, just like you!”

  
“Yes, that’s what I’m here to talk about.”

  
Paul perked up at the news of what could be juicy criminal underworld news.

  
“You’re being vague; elaborate.” He said, swallowing some painkillers dry to stave off his headache.

  
“He is… not only a professor… he is, well… my brother.” Hershel admitted.

  
Paul now wished he had swallowed the tablets with water. That information was spit take worthy.

  
“And let me guess: you want me to help you smuggle him out of London, right?”

  
“You’re the best person for the job. And you do owe me a favour, remember?”

  
“Well I’ll have to meet him first. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

  
“He can’t come here, he’s not in the best shape at the moment. But you’re welcome to come back with me?”

  
“Give me ten minutes. If it were someone else, I’d not bother dressing up, but him… lotta respect for the guy. What he did in that desert city? Fantastic.” Paul said, strolling off to change.

  
Hershel restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He’s still new to the respectful, non-villainous citizen thing. He reminded himself.

  
Paul came back in a much more formal outfit to the one he’d just been wearing. He had put on a clean shirt and a pair of smart trousers. He really was making an effort.

  
“Right, let’s get this over with then,” he said.

  
Hershel led his way out to the Laytonmobile, and Paul grinned.

  
“This baby still fly?” He asked as he strapped in, eyeing his modifications on the dash.

  
“Don’t even think about it, Paul.” Hershel warned, starting the car up and pulling into the flow of traffic.

  
“Alright, alright. It was just a question. But if we get into a sticky situation, it could prove useful again.”

  
“I don’t think we’ll be needing to fly on to any mobile fortresses any time soon, Paul.”

  
“Well these days, you just never know.” Paul shrugged and reclined a little in his seat, “What sort of disguise did you want, anyway? I brought a full trunk of stuff, so you name it, I’ll have it.”

  
“I’ll let you discuss that with Desmond. He’s more well versed in things such as that.”

  
But Desmond would prove to be of not much use just yet. He was dozing on the couch as a result of the painkillers he’d taken.

  
“So, is he gonna wake up at any point?” Paul asked.

  
“Flora, do you think he’d be okay if we woke him up?”

  
“I don’t know. He might be a bit tired, but he should be alright.”

  
“Right, let’s wake him up then,” Paul said as he rubbed his hands together fiendishly.

  
He grabbed Desmond by the shoulders and began shaking him.

  
“Hey! Sycamore! Wakey wakey!”

  
Desmond awoke with a start as his eyes shot wide open. He was clearly terrified.

  
A yelp of pain was the next thing to occur, but not from the injured professor. It had been a split second move, but Paul was now lying on the floor, clutching his stomach. Desmond shook his head to clear it of a drowsy fog and adjusted his glasses.

  
“Who is this, and why is he shaking me?” He asked, clutching his side.

  
“Desmond, this is Paul. He’s an old... friend. We think he can help us,” Hershel explained.

  
“If what he did just now is anything to go by, I wouldn’t say he’s the most sensible person.”

  
“Hey, watch your mouth, Sycamore,” Paul snapped.

  
“Sorry, it’s been a rough day. Allow me to introduce myself properly,” Desmond said holding his hand out for Paul to shake, “I’m Desmond Sycamore, pleased to meet you.”

  
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Paul shook Desmond’s hand, “And I know who you were, too.”

  
Flora dashed into the adjoining kitchen, thinking that perhaps the situation could be defused a little with some tea.

  
“What would everyone like?” She asked.

  
“Earl Grey, please,” The professors both agreed.

  
“Well port would be fantasti-”

  
A ‘look’ from Hershel silenced the hungover ex-villain.

  
“I’ll have Earl Grey too, please...”

  
Flora set about making tea for all four of them, hoping that it would effectively calm everyone down, and perhaps even sober Paul up a bit.

  
Meanwhile, Desmond was looking through the trunk Paul had brought.

  
“I’ll congratulate you on your collection, for certain,” he said, examining a few masks, “When were you posing as Hershel?”

  
He held up the Layton mask in surprise.

  
“That’s a long story that I can’t really be bothered getting into right now, but what I will say is that it worked. I had everyone fooled, non-surprisingly,” Paul had a very smug look on his face as he spoke.

  
“Right. What do you suggest for me then?”

  
“Well, for your best shot at being undetected, I’d suggest dressing as a woman. Word on the street is you’ve done it before, so this shouldn’t be much different. You’ll want to wear… one of these masks,” Paul paused to display a few feminine masks that would fit him, “And something that won’t irritate that wound of yours. How do you feel about dresses?”

  
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve worn a dress. And I’m not too fussed how I disguise myself at this point, I just need to be well hidden.”

  
Paul rummaged further into his trunk and pulled out a fashionable dress, some shoes and matching accessories.

  
“Perfect!” He declared.

  
“It surprises me that Paul has an eye for fashion…” Flora mused, “Especially given the ridiculous coat he used to wear.”

  
“I heard that, you bra-” A sharp look from both professors, “bra…ve girl…” Paul quickly corrected himself.

  
Flora couldn’t resist making a face behind his back before she set down the tea. Desmond saw this and couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

  
“I best be going,” Paul said, quickly downing his tea and getting up to leave, “I will leave this in your capable hands, Descole.” He shut the door behind him.

  
“Bye, then.” Flora snarked to the closed door.

  
She always did get a bit more sarcastic when Paul was around. Whether this was his influence or her grudge on him, Hershel was not prepared to say.

  
Desmond sipped his tea quietly, examining the mask.

  
“Does he make all these himself? If so, I’ll hand it to him, he’s a master craftsman.”

  
“I think he must do. If his business of making strange machines falls through he should pursue a career in fashion design,” Hershel remarked.

  
“Or making Halloween costumes,” Flora added.

  
Desmond finished his tea and got up carefully so as to not further irritate his wound.

  
“I’ll go try this on, then,” he said, making his way to the bathroom.

  
Flora watched worriedly as he limped off, but restrained herself from going to help.

  
“How are we going to get Uncle Desmond out of London, Professor? Inspector Chelmey said we couldn’t leave, and I bet there’ll be all sorts of checks on the way out…” she asked, biting her lip.

  
“We’ll find a way, don’t you worry, dear. But he can’t go anywhere until he’s feeling better anyway.”

  
“I suppose. But what are we going to do tomorrow? You have work and I can’t miss another day of school.”

  
Hershel hummed.

  
“If you walk to school, I can reschedule my morning lectures to take Desmond somewhere a little more secure. Ma and Pa will surely take him in; he said he knew them anyway…” he half-mumbled his thoughts.

  
While Hershel and Flora thought through their plans, Desmond came back into the room, but looking at him, you wouldn’t know it was him at all. The disguise was flawless.

  
“Ma'am, what - may I ask - are you doing in my house?” Hershel jokingly asked, chuckling.

  
Flora clapped.

  
“It’s fantastic, Uncle Desmond!” She beamed up at him, “Or, should I say… Aunt Dessy!”

  
She giggled at her own weak joke.

  
“Why, thank you, darlings,” Desmond replied in a very posh, feminine voice.

  
“I have to hand it to Paul, despite his... interesting... personality, he is a genius,” Hershel admitted.

  
Flora nodded in grudging agreement as Desmond sat back down on the sofa, holding his wound.

  
“Does anyone want lunch?” She suggested, “I could go to the chippy and buy us all something.”

  
“That would be lovely, thank you, Flora,” Hershel smiled.

  
So Flora picked up her purse and left.

  
“I think I’ll change back into my normal clothes,” Desmond said, in his normal voice now, “No one’s going to see me here.”

  
Hershel nodded and, whilst his brother changed, decided to call his parents. They were one of the few people he told everything about the Azran expedition to, and he knew they would be worrying.

  
“Ma, is that y-”

  
“Hershel, you’re alright, thank goodness! I was so worried you might have been arrested when I heard on the news you’d been taken in for questioning. How is poor Desmond? That is, assuming he’s with you. Is he with you, Hershel?” His mother gabbled.

  
“Yes, Ma, he’s with us.”

  
“Oh, good. Is he okay?”

  
“Yes, he’s fine,” Hershel lied. He didn’t want to worry his mother any further.

  
“Thank goodness.”

  
“Actually, I called to ask you a favour. Would it be okay if Desmond came to stay with you for a while? It wouldn’t be too long.”

  
“Of course he can! I think it’s probably the least we can do for him.” Lucille said kindly.

  
“Thank you, Ma; I’m sure he’ll appreciate this all very much.” Hershel responded, a smile growing on his face.

  
“Now this is all well and good,” A new voice was on the phone now, Hershel’s father, “But try not to get yourselves into too much trouble, alright, my boy?”

  
“Yes, Pa, I promise.”

  
“Alright, we’ll see you soon.”

  
“Goodbye, Pa.”

  
Desmond came back into the room as himself now, still clutching his side in pain though.

  
“So, what’s the word?” He asked.

  
“Ma and Pa said that you can stay with them for a while, just until this blows over.”

  
“Your parents, hm? Maybe I’ll get to find out some embarrassing stories from your childhood whilst I’m there. Ever get stuck in a tree, Hershel?” Desmond chuckled, but lightly.

  
“Ah, you’ll find out, I’m sure,” Hershel smiled.

  
Both brothers began to wonder then how their lives would have differed had they somehow grown up together. Hershel hummed to himself and cleared up the tea. Upon noticing Flora’s cup, his eyebrows narrowed. The fish and chips shop wasn’t far away, and never busy at this time.

  
“How along ago would you say Flora left?” He asked his brother.

  
“I’m not sure. About half an hour ago maybe?”

  
“It never usually takes her that long. I do hope she’s okay.”

  
Just then, Hershel heard the sounds of shouting. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he certainly knew both of those voices, as did Desmond.

  
“Rosetta.” The two men said in unison.

  
“I’m not going to tell you where Papa lives!” Came Flora’s shout, prompting Hershel to look out the window, barely registering the new term of endearment.

  
And sure enough, Rosetta was down there, her hand clasped around Flora’s arm. Flora tried her best to get away but Rosetta’s grip was too strong.

  
“I have to help her,” Hershel said, determination in his eyes.

  
“Hershel, wait!”

  
But Hershel was gone in a flash, not hearing Desmond’s warning. All that mattered to him at this moment was to keep Flora safe.

  
Hershel took the stairs to the ground floor two at a time, and was out the door in seconds. Flora, busy trying to push the taller girl away from her, didn’t see as he reached the two.

  
“Rosetta Stone, this is the last straw,” his eyes had a flash of anger that was unmistakable, “Get your hands off of my daughter.”

  
The student whipped around, eyes wide, and near instantly turned back into her saccharine, sneaky self.

  
“Oh, Professor L! There you are!” She said, smiling, “You said you didn’t want to see me around the hall any more unless it was for a lecture, so I sort of read in between the lines. That meant you wanted me to visit you, right?”

  
She still had Flora’s arm in a vicelike grip, and the younger girl was now furious. Nobody treated her, her father, or her uncle like that. She stomped down on Rosetta’s foot, hard. The older girl yelped in pain and released Flora, who ran to Hershel and hid behind him.

  
“I don’t understand why you thought this was at all appropriate. You clearly don’t value your place in Gressenheller,” Hershel said sternly.

  
“Well it would seem neither do you, Professor. You know harbouring a fugitive can damage your reputation, right?”

  
“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Stone.” Hershel was wise to her ways, and 99% certain she had another recorder or two hidden away, “Though it saddens me to find out who Professor Sycamore truly is, I would certainly not harbour such a heinous criminal; especially not one with a grudge against me.”

  
Flora was still shaking with anger, and it was only the fact the Professor was here to calm her that stopped her from attacking Rosetta again.

  
“Come on, Layton, you know what I’m talking about. How about you just tell me the truth and then I’ll leave.”

  
“I don’t believe a word of that. I have told you everything I know, so I ask you, please leave and never come back, or so help me I will ensure that never come back to Gressenheller.”

  
Rosetta growled. She glared at Flora, folding her arms.

  
“All I want is to know things. Everything, in fact. I’m terribly curious, you see,” she said, regaining her composure and blowing a kiss to the man before turning, “I’ll see you in your lecture tomorrow, Professor L.”

  
“She makes me sick,” Flora remarked quietly.

  
“You and me both, my dear,” Hershel agreed, “We should probably go back upstairs and tell Desmond what happened.”

  
“Yeah he must have been worried. I’m sorry I got caught.”

  
“Don’t apologise, it wasn’t your fault.”

  
The two made their way upstairs, and Desmond let out a breath.

  
“Thank goodness.” He sighed, “Are you alright, sweetpea?”

  
Flora nodded.

  
“She didn’t hurt me…” She said quietly, leaving out the ‘much’ as she rubbed the ring on her arm where Rosetta had grabbed her.

  
Desmond was so relieved. He hugged Flora and held her tight, not wanting to let her go for fear of her being hurt.

  
Flora giggled happily, “Really, Uncle Desmond, I’m okay.”

  
“I know…” Desmond stroked her hair fondly, “Just don’t scare me like that again, okay, sweetpea?”

  
Flora nodded, hugging him back.

  
“As long as you promise not to get hurt either.” She bargained, giggling.

  
“I promise.”

  
Desmond couldn’t help being so protective over her, even though she could probably protect herself. He had already lost one young girl that he loved, he didn’t want to lose another.

  
Hershel smiled at the two fondly and ducked into the kitchen to start making something to eat. He didn’t think it was wise to go outside again today. As he cooked, he listened to the radio, on alert for any news bulletins.

 

For a while the radio just played music. It was mainly music that was in the charts, but there was occasionally an older song or two thrown in. Hershel found himself more relaxed than he had been at any point during the past two days. I should do the cooking more, he thought to himself.

  
A hiss on the radio, another ‘breaking news’ segment.

  
“We apologise for the interruption, but we bring the latest on the Jean Descole story. Anonymous sources suggest he is now being harboured by upstanding Gressenheller University professor, Hershel Layton. The source is, as of yet, unavailable to play, but a transcripted copy suggests the adoptive daughter of Professor Layton let something slip whilst buying lunch at a local take-away, calling the fugitive by a fond 'civilian’ name, 'Uncle Desmond’. What are we to make of this development in the case? Or is it all just a cold lead?” A newsreader rattled off in a cold monotone.

  
“Goodness, it seems we can’t get through five songs without one of these bulletins now.” The main presenter commented, chuckling a little, “It’s a terrible thing, but I have good faith in our police force that they’ll catch the perp and anyone helping him sooner rather than later.”

  
But Hershel did not hear this chatter, or the rest of the show. Everything seemed to go quiet, and in slow motion.

  
“Flora… Desmond…” He repeated their names louder, “Desmond, Flora, we have to go!”

  
“What? What’s going on?” Flora asked, visibly panicked.

  
“There’s no time to explain, we have to leave. Right now.”

  
“Where are we going to go? We can’t just drive through the streets, they’ll spot us in no time,” Desmond pointed out.

  
“We’ll have to go through the backstreets. And we’ll have to walk.”

  
Hershel opened the door and gestured for the other two to leave with him.

  
Flora helped Desmond to stand, and then they were out the door. Luckily, the block of flats they lived in ran adjacent to an alleyway leading into the seedier parts of town. Usually, Hershel wouldn’t have let Flora down there under any circumstance, but this… this was not a usual day.

  
“Flora, put this on.” Desmond handed down his suit coat, holding back a wince, “Your shirt is bright enough to be memorable.”

  
“Thank you,” she said, taking the coat and putting it over her shoulders.

  
“Where are we going, Hershel? Do you have anywhere in mind?” Desmond asked.

  
Hershel hummed. He didn’t want to seem clueless in front of Flora, but then again, he didn’t have a clue what to do. This was only his first time as a fugitive.

  
“I have a plan,” he said, nodding, “Keep to the shadows as much as possible.”

  
And so they did. They stuck the narrow alleyways as much as possible, avoiding busy streets and lights. At one point Flora nearly stepped into view of a policeman, but Hershel pulled her back.

  
“This is all my fault.” Flora muttered to herself as they trudged through the darker, more gang-controlled areas of London.

  
“No it isn’t, sweetpea.”

  
Hershel said nothing. His brain was still clicking away as he attempted to figure out a plan. He did not want his daughter and brother sleeping rough tonight.

  
“Would Paul take us in?” Desmond asked in a hopeful voice, “No one knows that he’s involved, right?”

  
“Would he be okay with that?” Flora questioned.

  
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be. His flat’s certainly big enough, and if we promise to look after ourselves he shouldn’t have a problem with it,” Hershel said, relieved that he didn’t have to think of a plan anymore.

  
The trio continued to make their way through back alleys, avoiding all the attention possible until they reached Paul’s house. Flora was quick to knock on the door, being the only one not directly being searched for.

  
“Wh- Oh. It’s you.” Paul looked down and raised an eyebrow, “I heard it through the grapevine; come in. All of you.”

  
“Thank you, Paul. I really appreciate it,” Hershel told him.

  
“Eh, don’t mention it. I’ve done enough to help you in the past; there’s no harm in helping you some more. That’s what a gentleman does, right, Layton?”

  
“Indeed.” Hershel chuckled.

  
He went to tip his hat, and suddenly, his stomach dropped. In the confusion and rush to escape before the police’s net closed, he had totally forgotten it. He knew exactly where it was, perched on the top shelf in his study.

  
“Oh,” he said to himself.

  
“What, can’t survive without your hat, Layton?” Paul teased.

  
“What? Of course I can. It’ll just take a little getting used to.”

  
Flora, the only other one in the room to get the significance of the hat, hugged her father tightly.

  
“Don’t worry, Professor.” She said quietly, smiling confidently up at him.

  
Paul pretended to be sick, then gestured for his guests to enter properly.

  
“There’s leftover Chinese in the fridge if you’re hungry.” He said, drawing the curtains so no one would spot them, “Can’t believe you’ve drawn me into this, Layton; I thought you wanted me to stop being a criminal.”

  
“Well, technically you’re not being a criminal, you’re just... hiding one.”

  
“To be fair, I’ve not actually committed any crimes for over three years,” Desmond corrected them.

  
“Yeah, well look where’s that’s got you. Every member of Scotland Yard is out looking for you, every news channel is talking about you, and now you’re hiding in my home, effectively making me an accessory to a criminal,” Paul snapped.

  
“You let us in.” Desmond shrugged, claiming his spot on the least grey and stained sofa.

  
“For which we are eternally grateful.” Hershel added, sighing. Something told him this would be a difficult situation if Paul and Desmond didn’t get along.

  
Flora curled up in an armchair, stomach grumbling and looking genuinely miserable. Lucky for her, Paul always had a soft spot for her.

  
“Keep your traps quiet.” He warned, striding into the kitchen.

  
Flora was sat closest to the window, so she listened intently to the sounds of the outside world. She could hear people talking, cars going past, and even the occasional bird call. It hadn’t been very long that she was stuck inside, but she already missed the freedom of being able to walk through the streets and say hello to people, whether they were strangers or people she already knew. But now she had to be careful; she had to keep her face hidden and not talk to anybody. Despite all this, she wasn’t angry at Desmond, she was just worried for him.

  
“Hey, kid, eat something before you starve,” Paul placed a half full tupperware on the table near her chair, “Noodles good?”

  
He continued to hand around leftover Chinese, even being as good as to let Desmond have the last of the rice.

  
“Thank you, Paul.” Hershel managed to smile his gratitude, despite being deep in thought.

  
Hershel couldn’t believe that so much had happened in just one day. In only one day he had gone from a renowned university professor to being hunted down by the police. He knew this was wrong, but he couldn’t let someone else he loved slip away from him. He’d already lost his real parents, Randall, Claire... He couldn’t lose Desmond too.

  
Desmond was also musing as he pushed around the rice. This was all his fault, no matter which way you skewed it. If he hadn’t come to Hershel in the first place, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t fallen to the temptation of a normal life again, this wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t been totally overpowered by a student - of all the people! And twice! - this wouldn’t have happened.

  
Now he was a fugitive - again - and he’d brought his only remaining family into it.

  
What would happen if Hershel and he were caught? Well prison, obviously. Hershel would certainly be out first; but Desmond could serve life for some of his crimes. What would happen to dear Flora? He had no faith in the care system in this country; he couldn’t let her go to them.

  
There was an uncomfortable silence in the flat as everyone ate. Everyone there was deep in thought and had nothing that they wanted to say out loud. It had gotten very late before anyone had said anything.

  
Paul was the first one to speak, “I think I should be getting to bed. I’ve not been sleeping well lately, and well... there isn’t the best atmosphere in here.”

  
“Goodnight, Paul,” Hershel said.

  
Flora mumbled a goodnight, more asleep than anything, and curled up tightly in her chair to sleep. Hershel shook his head.

  
“You’ll ache if you sleep like that, dear,” he warns, “Take this sofa; I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  
“It’s fine,” Flora shrugged and moved over to where Paul had set up an air bed.

  
The hollow conversation petered out as Flora dozed back off.

  
Hershel was the next to fall asleep, although Desmond didn’t realise that he had.

  
“I’m sorry, Hershel,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for everything.”

  
No response.

  
“Serves me right.” Desmond commented, taking off his glasses and staring up at the fuzzy lights thrown onto the ceiling from outside.

  
The sleepless night was long. Very, very long.


	5. Chapter 5

 

When morning came, Hershel was the first to wake up. He rubbed his tired eyes and sat up. He looked at Flora who was still fast asleep curled up on the air bed. Then he looked towards Desmond.

  
But Desmond wasn’t there. At first, Hershel panicked, but then calmed himself, thinking that he may have gone to the bathroom, so he waited to see if Desmond was coming back.

  
After what felt like an eternity, Hershel decided to actually check the bathroom. He got up and made his way there as silently as possible. He knew that Paul was a very deep sleeper, but Flora wasn’t so much, so it was important that he remained quiet.

  
The bathroom door was wide open, and no one was inside.

  
Were Hershel less refined, he might have sworn. Things as they were, however, he simply hit his forehead and started to search for any evidence of where he might have gone.

  
“Don’t have done something stupid, Desmond…” He muttered when he noticed his coat was also missing.

  
He continued looking around, moving everything in search of some kind of clue as to where Desmond had gone. He could barely breathe, the worry was just too overwhelming.

  
Eventually, he found something; a note.

  
When you find this note, I’ll be gone. I’m going to fix this mess. Goodbye, Hershel.

  
“Desmond…” Hershel sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands, “What have you done?”

  
The sound of bare feet on the cheap plastic flooring made him look up. Flora padded over and hugged the Professor tightly.

  
“Where did he go?” She asked, as if he would have any clue.

  
“I don’t know, Flora… I don’t know,” Hershel admitted, utterly lost.

  
Hershel felt himself close to tears. His brother was gone, again, and he didn’t know where he was, if he was safe, or even what he had planned to do. To him, it just seemed like he was good at losing the people he cared about.

  
Flora read and reread the note, searching for some kind of code or clue. Nothing.

  
She returned to where he’d been sleeping. Nothing.

  
In fact, Flora searched every inch of the flat, top to bottom, and found nothing that could be called evidence. Well, at least not for the case at hand.

  
“Would he have turned himself in?” She asked.

  
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t strike me as the sort of thing he’d do.”

  
They both sat in silence once again, thinking, trying to work this out.

  
Finally, Paul woke up. He came into the kitchen holding something and he had a puzzled look on his face.

  
“He’s gone, Paul!” Flora exclaimed, in too much of a state to see what he was holding, “Uncle Desmond’s gone and he could die or go to jail or disappear and it’s not fair!”

  
Hershel looked up from his place at the table where he was studying the note.

  
“What is that, Paul?”

  
“Another note. Looks like Desmond left it.”

  
“What does it say?”

  
“Don’t let them come after me, Paul. Keep them safe. I need to sort this out on my own, Hershel and Flora would only get in my way.”

  
Flora wasn’t best pleased with this, “What does he mean, get in his way? That’s not very nice, we’ve done nothing but help him!”

  
Something clicked in Hershel’s brain. He looked up as if he had had an epiphany. “Rosetta.”

  
Flora stared, the flame of hatred that had started burning for the older girl yesterday roaring back to life.

  
“This isn’t fair! She’s mean and all she’s doing is destroying our family! I have to go and help Uncle Desmond!” She shouted, stomping her foot.

  
Hershel quickly wrapped Flora in his arms, murmuring soothing words to her.

  
“It’s all going to be alright, Flora. I promise you.” He reassured, rubbing her back in circles.

  
“Well we can’t just let him go and mess something else up,” Paul stated.

  
In retrospect, Paul should have chosen his words more carefully, as Flora could no longer contain her anger.

  
“He didn’t mess anything up! It would have all been fine if it weren’t for that horrible girl! How dare you say such a thing, Paul!”

  
Paul winced away from the furious young girl, glad he wasn’t hungover this morning.

  
“Okay, alright, I catch your drift, sorry!” He held up his hands in surrender, feeling a little guilty when he saw the tears filling Flora’s eyes.

  
“Please, Professor, we have to help him! Rosetta’s evil, who knows what she’ll do!”

  
“Flora, calm down,” Hershel tried to comfort her, “I’m sure he’ll be okay.” But Hershel wasn’t sure if he even believed his own words.

  
“What is her deal with you lot, anyway? I get that she’s all obsessive over you, Layton, but why show your brother’s secret identity to the world?” Paul asked, pouring himself some coffee, and tea for the other two.

  
“She’s fiendishly clever, and I think she wants the world to know that. If she reveals that she figured it all out, then she’ll be famous as the woman that brought down Jean Descole.”

  
“Wow. What a bitch.”

  
“My sentiments exactly.”

  
Flora grumbled, downing her tea and dashing off to the bathroom, or so Paul and Hershel thought. She hoped that no one knew what she’d taken from Desmond’s jacket earlier. It might just be the finishing touch to her mad plan.

  
Hershel sighed. “What now…?”

  
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Paul replied.

  
“We can’t just sit around and do nothing. Desmond could be in serious danger for all we know.”

  
“He can handle himself, can’t he?”

  
“He can, but I’m so worried. He’s my brother, I can’t just leave him on his own.”

  
Flora, meanwhile, had snuck into Paul’s ‘super secure’ costume cupboard. All those days of summer holiday and the like when she was home alone had paid off when it came to speed sewing and modifying. She worked as fast as she could to keep up the presentation of her costume, and so that she didn’t lose her courage in the few moments of madness that had led to her decision.

  
Everything was perfect. She was ready for her plan to come to fruition, and neither Hershel nor Paul were any the wiser. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she left the flat; she was certain that this would work.

  
At first, she wasn’t sure which way to go, but then she remembered that Rosetta was a student; she’d have a place on the Gressenheller Campus, only a few minutes from here walking. She bundled her costume into a bag and set off, thanking god for her recent growth spurt.

  
As she walked, Flora became more and more aware of how heavy the police presence was. It was unnerving, to say the least, but they didn’t seem to take much notice of her.

  
Looking around like you’re guilty will just make you so, Flora! She told herself as she reached Gressenheller’s famous student halls.

  
Time to change.

  
She ducked into the public bathroom that was closest to Rosetta’s dorm. She donned her disguise quickly, mask and all, and was ready to go.

  
Desmond, who was already in Rosetta’s dorm, had no clue of what was about to happen.

  
Flora made her way up the stairs quickly, listening to hear Desmond or Rosetta’s voice.

  
“Be brave, talk loud…” She told herself, opening the door with a shiver.

  
She saw Rosetta in the living room, reclining on a sofa and nibbling at a chocolate bar. Desmond was standing intimidatingly by the window, and Flora momentarily wondered if he’d tried the door at all.

  
“I wouldn’t suggest threatening me, Professor S, whichever you prefer. This entire room is bugged, and you’ll never find them all before the police get here. Oh, yeah, I called them, by the way; you have about two minutes of freedom left in your life. How you gonna use ‘em, clever man? 'Clever man’, hah! Bested by a student.” She was monologuing, and Desmond was formulating a plan; Flora could see it in his eyes.

  
She was the most prepared one here. She need only claim that…

  
“I am Jean Descole. This fraud is nothing but a cover!” She declared in a deep voice, stepping into the room.

  
Her heart was in her throat, beating like the galloping of a horse. Showtime.

  
Rosetta nearly jumped out of her skin. Desmond stared at ‘Descole’ in complete shock.

  
“You’re Jean Descole?” Rosetta asked, regaining her composure.

  
“Of course I am. You didn’t really think this professor was, did you?” Flora replied. Acting wasn’t exactly her strong suit, but she was trying her very hardest.

  
“He was a face. I needed information, he gave it to me,” Flora tried her best to sound cold, and silently begged her uncle to forgive her for what she was about to say, “After all, people will do a lot when you remove their families from the equation.”

  
Rosetta’s eyes widened.

  
“Professor S… when you said he was dangerous… you were warning me, weren’t you?” She put together the pieces of Flora’s fake puzzle with terror, scrambling out of her chair and standing up, “Warning me that I was… out of my depth… oh crap.”

  
Desmond was silent. He couldn’t tell who the other Descole was, or whose side they were on.

  
“You need to leave, right now!” Rosetta shouted to the fake Descole. She turned to Desmond. “You too! Get out of my home! Leave!”

  
Rosetta was obviously terrified. She thought she had it all figured out, but to be proven wrong in such a way was bound to confuse and scare anyone.

  
“Gladly,” Flora said, “Come on, Sycamore, let’s go.”

  
They began to leave, but that was when everything went so wrong again.

  
Police sirens could be heard outside. Officers could be heard shouting. Flora couldn’t take this much pressure, and she accidentally dropped the act.

  
“Oh no… I didn’t plan for this…” Her voice jumped a few octaves to its normal tone, and Desmond stared as they exited the room.

  
“Is that you, Flora?” He hissed.

  
“Well now isn’t really the time, but yes!” Flora nodded, “What do we do now?!”

  
“The only thing Jean Descole can do properly: Flee.”

  
Desmond grabbed his niece’s hand.

  
“Ah ha! I knew it couldn’t have been Descole!” Rosetta practically yelled.

  
“This is not the time! Shut up!” Desmond snarled, the actual Descole beginning to flare up.

  
“Don’t tell me to shut up. Do you realise how much trouble you’re in?”

  
“Flora, stay put a second, okay?” Desmond’s eyes never looked away from Rosetta.

  
He let go of Flora’s hand and strode over to the older girl.

  
The anger in his eyes was so obvious that for the first time, Rosetta was actually scared. And quite rightly so.

  
“If you ever come near my family again, I will not be held responsible for my actions. You are a lying, sneaking bitch, and you do not deserve to even go to this university. You do not deserve to be in the presence of Professor Layton; you are not good enough for that and nothing you ever do will make you good enough, do you understand me?”

  
She didn’t respond.

  
Desmond had had enough by this point. He grabbed her shirt collar and pulled her closer.

  
“I said, do you understand me?” He hissed.

  
She nodded, looking as if she was about to cry.

  
“Good.”

  
Desmond let her go and she fell to the floor in a frightened heap.

  
“Come on, Flora. It’s time to go home.”

  
Flora nodded, taking Desmond’s hand again.

  
“Upwards. The police won’t think to block off the roof.” He said, locating the stairwell and urging Flora to go ahead of him.

  
The two barrelled up the stairs at high speed, reaching the roof in mere seconds.

  
“What now, Uncle Desmond?” Flora stared around, feeling a little ill.

  
It wasn’t the height that got to her - she’d been living in a taller building than this one most of her life - but the sheer amount of police cars she could see on the ground.

  
“Take off the cloak and that.” Desmond ordered her calmly, keeping an eye on the door.

  
“Wh-why? We’re trying to make sure you aren’t arrested for being Desc-”

  
“Quickly, Flora, just do as I say!”

  
Flora followed the order instantly, passing the costume to Desmond.

  
“This way you’re not in the wrong. All they see is Descole capturing an innocent girl. I hope you don’t mind heights.”

  
And with that, Desmond donned the mask and picked Flora up. He’d judged the distance between this house and the next; they could make it if only he jumped at the perfect time.

  
None of the officers down below had noticed them on the roof yet, so they had the perfect opportunity to escape. Desmond took a few steps back, ran and jumped across the gap between houses. He landed the jump, Flora still in his arms.

  
“Right there’s a ladder over there that we can use to get back to the ground, and then we’ll just have to sneak around the crowd of police as much as we can,” he told her, putting her down.

  
Flora nodded, her stomach unsettled from the jump, and scarpered to the ladder.

  
“What happens when we get away, Uncle Desmond? We can’t just keep running, can we? And Paul can’t harbour us forever…” She asked quietly as they both clambered down.

  
“We’ll think of that later, okay?” Desmond responded, looking around for any police that had been told to spread out, “Come, this way.”

  
He pointed to the dark alley behind the buildings and led Flora through them as she clung desperately to his hand.

  
This is all just too much… Flora thought, her head feeling just as fuzzy and unsettled as her stomach. As they escaped, her breathing began to become more erratic, and she had to stop. This is not the time to freak out! She was telling herself mentally, but she could do nothing.

  
“Desmond, I can’t do this anymore. What are we doing? How is this all going to work out?” She asked through panicked breaths.

  
Desmond stopped in his tracks. She was right. He didn’t what he was doing. He didn’t have a plan. He had dragged everyone into this mess and he didn’t even know how to fix it.

  
He returned to where Flora was standing, staring numbly at the ground.

  
“Flora, sweetpea… I’m so sorry.” He said quietly, pulling her into a hug.

  
Flora shook her head.

  
“Descole isn’t you,” She mumbled, voice void of emotion, “If the police were to think that, then… maybe the Professor would be fine as well. He would only have been harbouring Professor Sycamore, and not a criminal.”

  
Desmond’s eyebrows knitted together.

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“If they saw you and Descole at the same time… they’d get their criminal, and you’d be acquitted of all charges…"

  
Something clicked, and Desmond understood why Flora had come here as she had.

  
“No! Absolutely not! You think they wouldn’t end up finding who was under the mask?”

  
“But, I just thought...”

  
“Flora, listen to me, I won’t let you do that. I’m not prepared to lose you, and neither is Hershel. He’d never forgive me, or himself for that matter. He made a promise to look after you, did he not? Let him keep that promise.”

  
“Then how are we supposed to get out of this mess?!” Flora shouted, hot tears streaming down her face in an instant of panic, “The Professor will never be able to work again, and that’s after serving the sentence for aiding and abetting, and you’ll go to jail forever, and I’ll go into care and never see either of you again! I can’t lose another family, Uncle Desmond! If I went to jail instead… At least you could both visit.”

  
She wiped her tears away, but they still streamed down her face, and now she was desperately staring up at Desmond.

  
“Please!”

  
“No, Flora. We’ll find another way. Come on, let’s go back to Paul’s. I’m sure Hershel’s worried sick about you.”

  
“Oh, yeah...”

  
“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?”

  
“No... But neither did you!”

  
“Touché, sweetpea, touché.”

  
The two quickly fled from the scene, the older being sure to take corners first, in case there were police around. When they reached Paul’s flat again, they could hear frantic talking inside, and dashed in.

  
“Professor!” Flora barrelled into his arms, nearly knocking him over.

  
“F-Flora! Where did you g- Desmond?” Hershel hadn’t been this bemused in a long while, “What happened?”

  
“I got a call from Rosetta, she said she wanted to talk, so I went there. But she called the police. And then Flora showed up dressed as Descole. For a while Rosetta was convinced, but when the police came, poor Flora couldn’t keep up the act. Luckily we managed to escape without anyone seeing us,” Desmond explained.

  
“I’m sorry, Professor! If I’d have just kept acting a little longer, this would all be over for all of you!” She sniffled, burying her face in Hershel’s shoulder.

  
“No, no, Flora…” Hershel stroked her hair, “You didn’t need to do anything; but even this is amazing. You stopped Desmond from being arrested.”

  
“B-but! The police are still going to search for all of us, and now Rosetta has more information; her entire home had microphones!” Flora protested, “This is all wrong!”

  
“Yes, but the police don’t know where we are. And neither does Rosetta. No one knows that Paul’s involved at all.”

  
“Yeah, so if I’m seen out and about, it won’t matter!”Paul said with an idea in mind, “You lot stay in here, and I’ll go out and listen in on the gossip and whatever the cops are saying!”

  
Flora fell silent, curling up on a sofa and watching intently out the window as Paul left.

  
“Flora, I must say, that was terribly reckless of you,” Hershel sat next to his daughter, pulling her into a hug, “I was worried sick.”

  
“It all worked out though…” She responded quietly.

  
“I know, which is why I’m not going to tell you off, but I will ask one thing of you: please tell me next time, dear. I know you were thinking I wouldn’t let you go, and perhaps I wouldn’t have, but sometimes things don’t go as well as they did this time. Sometimes, Flora, things go wrong, and you can lose people,” Hershel kissed her forehead, “I’ve been through it, and I never want you to experience that same heartbreak.”

  
“I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, “It won’t happen again.”

  
This time, Hershel realised the new term of endearment. It warmed his heart and made him smile. Despite being her adoptive father, she had never called him by anything other than Professor. At least, not until now. Of course, they had always felt like a family, but now Hershel felt even closer to his daughter.

  
“Thank you, Flora,” he smiled softly, “Remember: I only say these things out of love.”

  
Flora blinked. That was the first time he’d ever said that to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he thought that, but after you’d been through what he had… Well, Flora supposed it would be difficult to say that to anyone ever again. Despite everything that had happened in the past few days, a smile grew on her face, and she hugged Hershel properly, eyes brimming with happy tears.

  
“I love you too, Papa,” she said quietly.

  
Paul, meanwhile, was walking through the streets of London, listening to people talking about the latest gossip regarding Desmond Sycamore.

  
“I heard he threatened a student,” one person said.

  
“Well I heard that he was staying with that other professor,” said another.

  
Eventually, Paul walked to a place where there was a large gathering of people, including journalists and policemen.

  
To his surprise, ‘that bitch’, as he’d taken to calling her, was being interviewed by a circle of gossip-hungry article writers who, to him, seemed more like vultures around carrion than anything else. She didn’t seem hurt, so that was a good sign.

  
“He attacked me! Picked me up and shook me and threatened to kill me!” She was saying half-hysterically, all the while being comforted by a woman of similar age; a flatmate or something, perhaps?

  
Paul had to take exception to what she’d said though. There was no way Desmond would be dumb enough to threaten her like that with microphones in the room. That would be the final straw for him. He looked around and saw a police interview.

  
“And do you have any ideas as to the second Descole’s identity, or as to where either of them are now?” One reporter was asking.

  
The investigator sighed.

  
“Currently we have very few leads. People are working on extracting data from Ms Stone’s recording devices, and that should give us more of a clue. We will also be conducting a full interview with the witness as soon as she’s calmer. Scotland Yard would like to ask for the help of the public in this case. If you have seen, or have any knowledge as to the whereabouts of Desmond Sycamore or his known associate, Hershel Layton, please come forward. Any information leading to an arrest will be rewarded.”

  
Paul couldn’t believe that people actually believed all of this. Did no one realise that Rosetta wasn’t a very trustworthy person?

  
All of a sudden, a voice could be heard calling out from the crowd.

  
“She’s lying!” The voice said.

  
Everyone in the crowd looked around trying to find the source of the voice, but no one was sure where it came from.

  
“Excuse me?” Rosetta said, still drying her tears.

  
“You’re a liar! All of this is lies!” The voice continued to accuse.

  
The assembled crowd’s heads swivelled in every direction, trying to pinpoint the accusations. Ripples of disorganised conversation broke out between groups.

  
“What are they talking about? For that matter, who and where are they?” Questions spouted from all around.

  
But the voice didn’t breathe another word, so the people were just left confused, some of them angry.

  
The crowd began to dissipate. The journalists and members of Scotland Yard had gotten all of the information that they could. And therefore, so had Paul. Or so he thought.

  
He began to head back home, but was stopped by a hand grabbing his arm.

  
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” He snapped.

  
He turned around to face a short, old man looking back at him.

  
“Who the hell are you?”

  
“My name’s Raymond,” the man replied, “I believe you’re helping Professor Sycamore?”

  
“Well, yeah. Don’t shout about it, alright?” Paul looked uncomfortable, “Why d'you wanna know?”

  
“That’d be because I’m here t’ help him. I owe that man a great debt, and we go back a long ways. Any chance you can take me to him?” Raymond raised an eyebrow.

  
“How do I know you can be trusted?”

  
“Well, I’ll be honest, these days you just don’t know if you can trust anyone. But I promise, you can trust me.”

  
“Okay, you go way back with Sycamore, right?” Paul challenged, “Tell me something no one with the police would know… What’s his wife’s name?”

  
Raymond winced at the question, wondering how the man known.

  
“It was Olivia,” he said soberly, “But how did y-”

  
“Criminal underclass, my good man. Word spreads. This way.”

  
And with that, Paul led Raymond back to his flat. He couldn’t help but wonder if Desmond knew that Raymond was here in London. Well, either way, he was about to find out.

  
Paul swung open the door with a call inside to make sure the three were still alright, then ushered Raymond inside.

  
“They’ll be in the living room,” he said, pointing through as he wrestled with the still lock on the door.

  
Raymond nodded and entered.

  
“Master, my apologies for the extended absence,” he bowed his head to Desmond, not able to keep a smile off his face as he saw his master’s reaction.

  
“R-Raymond?! You’re… Raymond?!”

  
“It’s nice to see you, Master.”

  
Desmond immediately started to tear up as he went to hug his assistant. Well, in truth, to Desmond, Raymond was much more than just an assistant, he was a friend, and the closest thing he had to a father for a good majority of his life.

  
“I thought you were dead,” Desmond sobbed.

  
“So did I for the longest time, Master,” Raymond hugged the man back, eyes shining with equal parts tears and joy.

  
It was evident to Hershel just how close the two were, and it made him smile. Desmond was pained to see how aged Raymond had become in such a short space of time.

  
“How did you…?” Desmond asked, dashing away his tears.

  
“I have my ways, Master. Now, what predicament are we in now, hm?” The elderly man responded, smiling, “I cannae leave you alone for a minute, can I?

  
And so everyone explained the situation to Raymond, making sure to include every single small detail they could think of. It would have been an understatement to say that Raymond was disgusted by the behaviour of a one Miss Rosetta Stone. It was plain to see how fiercely protective he was of Desmond.

  
“And they’re tryin’ to arrest you? If you ask me, she should be the one in prison for unwanted advances and blackmail at the least!” Raymond was fuming.

  
Desmond nodded, sighing.

  
“There’s nothing we can do about that now, Raymond. Who’d believe a fugitive or his brother?” He said, holding his side.

  
The amount of exertion he’d been through recently was starting to take its toll, and he was pretty certain that his stab wound had opened up.

  
“Master, what’s wrong with your side?”

  
“Oh, this? It’s nothing, really,” Desmond lied, trying not to show that he was in pain.

  
“What happened to you?”

  
“He got stabbed,” Hershel chimed in, “We tried to take care of it best we could, but we only had a first aid kit at our disposal. And obviously we couldn’t take him to the hospital.”

  
Raymond gave Desmond a ‘look’ and started searching through the bag on his back for his (much more medically advanced) first aid kit.

  
“That’s hardly nothin’, Master,” he said dryly, “I’ll need t’ see to it immediately.”

  
Desmond smiled appreciatively.

  
“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” he said with a light chuckle, shrugging off his suit jacket.

  
“We both know I was around for much more than sortin’ out your injuries.”

  
“Fair point.”

  
Desmond pulled up his shirt, revealing the poorly bandaged wound. The bandages were now bloodied and crooked; they definitely needed sorting out.

  
“Bloody ‘ell, Master. They didn’t half do a number on you,” Raymond muttered.

  
Paul, who had returned to the room by order of Flora to offer tea, turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen, muttering about blood on his sofa.

  
“It’s already basically black and stained anyway. What does a little blood do?” Flora pointed out, looking worried for Desmond.

  
Paul could be heard complaining to himself in the kitchen.

  
Raymond started to remove the bandages as carefully as he could, making sure he didn’t cause Desmond any more pain. Desmond winced a little bit, but it wasn’t anything totally unbearable.

  
“I think this’ll need stitches,” Raymond said as he examined the wound.

  
“Do you think you’ll be able to? Or will it need a professional?” Desmond asked, looking concerned at the second option.

  
“I… I think I can do it. I’ve got what’s needed. It’s just a case of not lettin’ it get infected, and sterilising everythin’.” Raymond nodded thoughtfully.

  
Paul let out another sound of annoyance.

  
“And now my front room’s an operating theatre. Great,” he grumbled, “I suppose I’ll be called on to play nurse next.”

  
“You probably have a nurse’s outfit in that costume collection of yours,” Desmond teased, effectively shutting Paul up.

  
“Right, I don’t have any anaesthetic, so this is probably going to hurt a lot. Are you going to be okay?”

  
“I’ll be fine. I’ll just... bite something.”

  
Flora looked more worried than the person actually having the operation done.

  
“You can hold my hand if it hurts too much. That’s what Papa did for me when I got my booster jab.” She offered, wincing at the sight of the sharp, curved needle.

  
Desmond smiled, accepting the offer, to calm her down more than himself.

  
“I’ll be okay, sweetpea.” He assured her.

  
Raymond noticed the term of endearment and smiled to himself as he sanitised the equipment.

  
He managed to stitch Desmond’s wound with minimal fuss. Obviously, Desmond was in a lot of pain because of it and after it, but the stitches were secure, so his injury would heal up much quicker now and the bleeding had now stopped completely. Flora got her uncle some painkillers, and Desmond was instructed to just lie down and rest for the remainder of the day.

  
Later on, the group was congregated in the living room, everyone sipping tea in silence. The same question was weighing on everyone’s minds.

  
“What now?” It was Flora who voiced it, “We can’t stay here forever.”

  
The question floated around the group, silently casting shadows of doubt and worry, demanding an answer. No such response came.

  
“We’ll have to stay here for as long as we can; until we can think of a plan,” Hershel said, “As long as Paul will still have us.”

  
Paul huffed, but didn’t say anything.

  
“Until that plan, then, I’m going to help out here.” Flora said, prepared to do anything to take her mind off what would soon class as cabin fever, “It’s only fair, right?”

  
Paul raised an eyebrow.

  
“What’s to do?” He asked.

  
“Well I’ll start by cleaning.” Flora said resolutely, pointing out the thick layer of dust on top of the television, “Then I could probably make dinner, so we don’t live off of Chinese.”

  
Paul shrugged, “Well I’ve always been fine like this, but...”

  
Hershel shot him a look.

  
“That would be nice, Flora,” Paul corrected himself.

  
Flora smiled and set about finding cleaning supplies.

  
As Flora bustled around the dark flat, Paul looked at the costume she had made earlier.

  
“This is good quality…” He hummed, examining the stitching of the cloak, “And made pretty quickly too…”

  
“It’s better than her previous disguises by a mile,” Hershel added, chuckling.

  
Paul made a thinking noise, watching Flora tidying up.

  
“I never would have thought that the Golden Apple would have been such a clever young lady,” Paul admitted, “All that time I thought it was gold or something like that.”

  
Flora chucked to herself.

  
“What’s the time?” Paul asked.

  
“About 5.” Hershel supplied.

  
“Alright, then, dinner orders?” He asked, ready to stand.

  
Flora shook her head, smiling.

  
“I said I was going to cook, didn’t I?” She reminded him, “Is omelettes alright with everyone?”

  
“Hmph, good luck cooking on that hob. Everything you make on there burns.”

  
“Maybe you’re just not a very good cook,” Desmond joked in his half-asleep state.

  
Paul just stared at him, as he didn’t have a good comeback to that.

  
Flora giggled at the comment and bounced into the kitchen to start making the omelettes.

  
“None for me, thank you, lass.” Raymond said, “I’m afraid I have some other engagements to be dealing with, and this flat is crowded enough for sleeping arrangements. I’ll be back soon.”

  
He bowed his head to the sleepy Desmond again, and then left the flat with various goodbyes.

  
By the time the rest of them tucked into their omelettes, it was getting quite late. It took a fair amount of time for Flora to actually prepare their meals because, as Paul pointed out, his cooking equipment had seen better days.

  
With full bellies and relaxed minds, they all settled into bed, and for the first time in days, nobody had to suffer through a sleepless night.


	6. Chapter 6

Flora was first to rise the next morning, and spent the quiet time before the others woke reading through a book on mechanics from Paul’s selection on the subject. This one in particular spoke about robots, and she was very interested in it. So much so that she didn’t even notice Paul waking up and smiling somewhat proudly at her, before checking himself. He was proud of her? Why?

  
He had to admit, other than him being a criminal mastermind, she and him had a lot in common. They both had an interest in robotics and a flair for costume desgining.

  
“Mornin’, kid.” He said, nodding to her and then going to make himself some coffee.

  
Flora looked up from the book with a smile, following him into the kitchen.

  
“Why did you become a criminal, Paul?” She asked, yawning.

  
Paul raised his eyebrows.

  
“Why do you want to know?”

  
“I don’t know. I was just thinking, surely there has to be some kind of motivation.”

  
“There might have been. Doesn’t mean it’s any of your beeswax.”

  
“Well, the professor tells me everything...”

  
Paul huffed and folded his arms.

  
“Why don’t you ask him instead then?” He responded, sipping his coffee.

  
“Because he’s asleep, and I think he deserves a rest for at least one day this week. Please tell me, Paul?” She smiled sweetly, “Please?”

  
The ex-criminal sighed.

  
“Oh, alright. But promise you won’t laugh.”

  
Flora nodded enthusiastically.

  
“It was because of Layton, if I’m honest.”

  
“What did he do?”

  
“Right, this is the ridiculous bit: he stole the girl I had a crush on. I saw them together and on that day I vowed to get my revenge on him.

  
Flora covered a laugh before it could escape. She stared at Paul in astonishment.

  
“R-Really?” She asked, struggling to keep her voice steady, “You’re not pulling my leg?”

  
“Really.” Paul confirmed, downing the last of his coffee, “Don’t make my mistakes, kiddo. If your dream person gets snatched away, try ruining their relationship instead.”

  
“Erm... Okay...” Flora was still trying not to laugh, and also was contemplating the life advice Paul had just given her.

  
Hershel now entered the kitchen, shaking his head.

  
“Are you giving my daughter bad life advice?” He chuckled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

  
“Hey, it’s from experience, what can I say?” Paul shrugged and poured himself another coffee.

  
Flora tutted at Hershel.

  
“You should go back to sleep for a bit, Papa; you were exhausted last night.” She said, hugging him all the same.

  
“Don’t worry about me, my dear, I’ll be fine,” Hershel replied, rubbing his eyes, “How’s Desmond? Is he awake yet?”

  
“Not yet, he’s still asleep. But that’s probably for the best, he was in a lot of pain yesterday.

  
“Wouldn’t you be, if you’d had a knife stuck in your side?” Paul pointed out, “Either of you want tea?”

  
“Earl Grey, please.” Hershel smiled and sat at the table.

  
“Ooh, lookie here at Mr Fancypants.” Paul mocked, “I’ve got bog standard Yorkshire and that’s it, pal.”

  
Flora giggled a little at this, and stood up.

  
“I’ll make it.” She offered, switching on the kettle.

  
“Thank you, Flora.”

  
Seemingly at the mention of his name, Desmond woke up, and he looked rough to say the least.

  
“Morning,” he said in a groggy voice.

  
“Good morning, Uncle Desmond!” Flora chimed, “How are you feeling? Do you need more painkillers?”

  
“Give me a chance to wake up first, sweetpea.” Desmond responded, rubbing his eyes in a very similar way to Hershel.

  
Flora smiled at the similarity and poured three mugs of tea, leaving them to brew as she checked on her uncle properly. She pondered the fact that Desmond and Hershel were brothers. If you didn’t know, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell, but if you already did know, you could see the similarities.

  
“How are the stitches holding up?” She asked as she helped Desmond to sit upright.

  
“Well, thank you, Flora.” Desmond nodded and tidied down his hair a bit.

  
“Tea’s on its way.” She smiled at him.

  
Hershel, meanwhile, was thinking deeply about something; Paul could see it in his face. What, he didn’t know, but knowing him, it would all come out at the proper time.

  
“Do you know where Raymond went, Desmond?” Hershel asked.

  
“I actually have no idea. I don’t know when he’ll be back either to be honest,” Desmond replied, equally, if not more so, confused.

  
Flora brought the tea to the table and sat down to drink her own.

  
“I wish Luke still lived in England…” She said, seemingly out of the blue, “Then we could all go stay with him, and it’d be just as if we were on holiday.”

  
Hershel hummed.

  
“That would be nice.” He agreed, putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, “We’ll have a more permanent plan soon, don’t worry, dear.”

  
Desmond looked towards the door, anticipating his friend’s arrival.

  
“Where could he be?” Desmond said to himself.

  
He was so worried. Even though Raymond had been gone for over 2 years, and could clearly take care of himself, Desmond couldn’t help fearing for his wellbeing.

  
Just then, there was a knock at the door. All heads turned towards it, and then swivelled to look at Paul.

  
“I can’t even finish making my toast?” He asked, gesturing to the toaster.

  
“It’ll be here when you get back; go answer the door.” Desmond said stiffly, desperate for the person to be Raymond, and not the police, or something of the sort.

  
Paul reluctantly went to open the door, not too happy about leaving his toast.

  
“Can I help you?” He said to the mystery knocker when he opened the door.

  
“Yes, I’m here to see Professors Layton and Sycamore,” the person replied in a familiar voice, “They are here, aren’t they?”

  
“And you would be?”

  
“Emmy. Emmy Altava. I’m an old... friend.”

  
“My flat is not a train station, believe it or not, Layton!” Paul called through to the kitchen as he grudgingly let in the young woman.

  
“What are you talking about, Paul?”

  
Hershel had come out of the kitchen to see what the hold-up was, and now gasped, staring at the woman by the now closed door.

  
“Emmy?” He stared some more, “What are you doing here?”

  
She’d changed so much over the time since they’d said goodbye, but it was still unmistakably her.

  
“Well, I sort of hoped… I could make amends?” She smiled at him sheepishly, “I know that nothing excuses what I did, b-”

  
She was cut off, pulled into a hug by the ever-forgiving professor.

  
“I forgive you, Emmy.”

  
The two hugged for a while before Paul broke the peaceful silence.

  
“Mind clueing us in, Layton?” He said, referring to himself and Flora.”

  
Layton smiled and let his ex-assistant go.

  
“Flora, this is Emmy, the friend I told you about who came with me on my previous adventures, before you came along.” He said warmly, “Emmy, this is my daughter, Flora.”

  
“D-Daughter?” Emmy shouted in surprise, staring, “How long was I gone?!”

  
The shout pulled Desmond out of the kitchen, and he stepped into the hall.

  
“Miss Altava?!”

  
“Desmond? Is that you?”

  
They were both in shock to see each other. One thought the other was dead, and that one thought that the other wouldn’t ever be coming back. It had been a long three years since they’d last seen each other.

  
You’re alive?”

  
“You’re back?”

  
The two stared for a good while at each other, until Emmy spoke at last.

  
“Okay, someone needs to fill me in. How are you a dad, Professor? How are you still alive, Desmond? Why the heck are you both fugitives? And who in god’s name is this?” She gestured to Paul with her final question.

  
“‘This’ is the person keeping your friends out of jail, and sacrificing his toast to do so. Show a little respect.” Paul huffed.

  
“Emmy, this is Paul. He’s also an old friend. And I adopted Flora after a case a while ago,” Hershel explained.

  
“I had some help surviving,” Desmond also explained, “And I’m wanted by the police for the crimes of Jean Descole. One of Hershel’s students figured it out and released it to the press.”

  
Emmy nodded thoughtfully.

  
“Well then, it appears we have some planning to do,” She said, “Nice to meet you, Flora, and you too, Paul.”

  
She smiled at both of them, and then followed Hershel through to the kitchen.

  
“I can’t believe I come back from holiday and the first thing I hear on the news is that our esteemed Professor is on the run from the law,” Emmy said, sounding astonished, “Clark’ll have your head for this one, Professor, isn’t that right, Lu-”

  
She entered the kitchen, expecting to see her old friend sitting at the table.

  
“Oh, where’s Luke then? I thought he might enjoy a little souvenir I brought him.”

  
“He’s gone. Clark got a new job that required moving away. It was only a few days ago, actually,” Hershel told her, the words catching in his throat slightly.

  
“Oh. That’s a shame, I would have loved to see him again.”

  
“As would I,” Desmond said as he walked into the kitchen.

  
“What brings you here then, Emmy? I thought you were still doing your hard-hitting expose of life in Slaam for the World Times,” Hershel asked, quick to move on from the subject of Luke.

  
“I was! I finished writing it on the way home, just yesterday. But who cares what I’ve been doing, we need to think about what we’re going to do about this situation!”

  
“Still as energetic as ever, then.” Hershel observed with a smile.

  
“I hate to tell you, Miss Altava, but as of yet, we lack a plan, or means to come up with a viable one,” Desmond interjected, adjusting his glasses.

  
“That doesn’t mean we can’t come up with one entirely.”

  
“Maybe whatever Raymond’s doing will benefit us in some way?” Hershel suggested.

  
“I wish he would have told us what he’s doing. It would have saved us a lot of worry,” Desmond said, still obviously distressed at the absence of his friend.

  
“Oh, Raymond? He’s the one that told me you’d be here, Professor!” Emmy beamed at Hershel, “He said something about seeing to some old debts… Whatever that means.”

  
Desmond looked a little more relieved at hearing his friend was well, and returned to sipping distractedly at his tea. Flora quietly watched Emmy. Of course, she knew who she was, and what she’d done, but she still wanted to make her own judge of the older woman’s character.

  
“Would you like some tea, Miss Altava?” She offered, standing.

  
“Oh, yes please, Flora, I’m parched. And don’t worry about the formalities, Emmy is just fine.”

  
Paul muttered to himself as he tried to rescue his toast from its burnt state, something about his electric bill.

  
“How exactly do you know this guy?” Emmy asked Hershel, very quietly of course, gesturing to Paul.

  
“We went to the same university. And he was involved in some of my most recent cases. Sometimes he helped, but not a lot of the time,” Hershel replied.

  
“And the times he wasn’t helping?” Emmy raised an eyebrow.

  
“He was hindering,” Flora said with a smile, placing Emmy’s tea in front of her, “But it’s okay, because Papa always wins.”

  
Emmy thanked the younger girl for her tea, chuckling at her response.

  
“You do like making friends with people that try to wrong you, don’t you, Professor?” She pointed out.

  
“Kindness is the best antidote to a grudge, or so they say,” Hershel smiled.

  
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation, and Paul made a sound of despair, halfway through buttering his toast.

  
“Hello?” He said, opening the door.

  
No conversation could be heard, as it must have been a very quiet one. In fact, nothing could be heard at all from whoever was at the door. That is, until Paul walked back into the kitchen.

  
“Err... Professors... There’s someone here to see you,” he said, visibly shaken.

  
Both Sycamore and Layton were confused by this; they weren’t expecting anyone to turn up other than Raymond. And Raymond would have just been let in without needing an introduction.

  
They walked into the living room to be greeted by none other than Rosetta. And she was holding a gun.

  
“Hello, fellas,” she said in a sickeningly sweet tone.

  
Emmy’s eyes widened, and she could tell without having to be informed that this was the ‘crazy, infatuated, popularity hungry bitch’ that Paul had been muttering about. Flora let out a sound of fear, going to duck behind Hershel.

  
“Nobody move,” She snarled, pointing the gun at Flora.

  
“Rosetta, what in the name of sanity do you think you’re doing?” Hershel stared from his seat at the table.

  
“Oh, what does it look like, Professor L? I thought you were clever… I’m threatening you,” her voice snapped back to its saccharine tone without a waiver.

  
She stalked through the kitchen, gun still trained on the youngest occupant, until she stood next to her.

  
“Now, everyone in here does as I say, okay?” She said softly, holding the gun to Flora’s head.

  
“What do you want, Rosetta?” Desmond asked, clearly fed up with this woman.

  
“I want you. You’re going to come with me, and no one’s gonna get hurt. Do you understand?”

  
“Why on earth would I go with you?”

  
“Because otherwise, your little ‘sweetpea’ gets a bullet through her brain,” Rosetta pressed the tip of the gun against Flora’s head.

  
“Why do you want this so badly?”

  
Desmond kept his voice monotone, low and calm. He could not let Flora get hurt. The younger girl was trying with all her might not to struggle, and the tears brimming in her eyes were visible to all.

  
“Rosetta Stone, why are you so set on me? There’re plenty more villains for you to chase. There’s another one in this room, for hell’s sake,” Desmond gestured to Paul, and Rosetta’s grip tightened on the gun at the sudden movement.

  
“I said: No one move!” She growled, “As for why… Isn’t it obvious?”

  
“No! It isn’t obvious! That’s why I asked.”

  
“Rosetta, this is madness,” Hershel said in an attempt to reason with her, “Please explain yourself. Why are you here?”

  
“I told you before… I’m very, very curious. I need my answers, and I don’t care what I have to do to get them,” Rosetta looked furious, “Now, all of you, you have thirty seconds.

If dear old Professor S isn’t out that door by then, you can say goodbye to this sweetheart.”

  
Flora’s eyes widened. She didn’t want to die, but if anything happened to Desmond, she’d never forgive herself, no one would ever forgive her!

  
Hershel couldn’t breathe; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, his daughter was going to die if he didn’t do something! He couldn’t lose another person…

  
“Tick tock, boys and girls, twenty-five seconds…”

  
Emmy still wasn’t 100% about what was going on and why, but she wasn’t about to stand by and not do anything about it. In one swift movement, she kicked the gun out of Rosetta’s hand. It flew across the room and landed on the floor. Rosetta stared at her with eyes filled with rage.

  
“Oh, you bitch,” Rosetta pushed Flora away, and the younger girl collapsed to the floor in relief, “Did you really think that was a good idea?”

  
The confined space would make for s rather interesting fight, Emmy had evaluated this, and was prepared when Rosetta lunged for her. With an effortless movement, she caught her and sent her flying into the wall. But Rosetta was hardly deterred, and attacked again, this time managing to get in a punch to Emmy’s stomach and stagger her momentarily.

  
“Hah, got y- YAH!”

  
Caught off guard, Rosetta was cut off by an attack from behind. Paul grinned, proudly holding a frying pan.

  
“You come into my flat and wave a gun around near an innocent young girl, you get hit,” he said, glaring down at the now unconscious Rosetta.

  
“Oh my god,” Desmond said with a mixture of shock and relief.

  
“Nice one, Paul!” Emmy congratulated him.

  
“Yeah, well, she had it coming,” Paul replied, a smug look on his face.

  
“Thank you, Emmy, thank you, Paul!” Flora jumped up and hugged both of her saviours warmly.

  
Paul looked down at the girl in surprise.

  
“Uhh… No problem, kid,” He said, patting her shoulder, “So, what do we do with… that?” He gestured to Rosetta, whilst still being clung to by Flora.

  
“Well, we can’t just leave her on the floor,” Desmond pointed out.

  
“Let’s put her on the sofa,” Hershel suggested, “She won’t get hurt anymore, then.”

  
He bent down and picked her up, and put her down gently on one of the sofas.

  
Desmond never did understand how Hershel could be so kind to those who wronged him; it was never something Desmond himself was capable of doing.

  
“We could call the police,” Flora suggested quietly, peeking at the unconscious young woman from behind Paul.

  
“And have all of us arrested?” Paul pointed out, slowly accepting his new fate as a shield for the young girl.

  
“That’s a point,” Hershel hummed.

  
“She can’t stay here though, she’s dangerous,” Emmy said.

  
Desmond sighed, “I have an idea.”

  
Everyone looked at him expectantly.

  
“When she comes to, I’ll go with her and see what she wants. I can defend myself if need be.”

  
“No, Uncle Desmond!” Flora shook her head, “She had a gun!”

  
“Sweetpea, this is the only way she’s going to stop coming after us,” Desmond smiled, kissing her forehead.

  
“And this time, Desmond will be the one with the gun,” Emmy handed the pistol to him, showing him that she had one of her own so Rosetta would be none the wiser.

  
“Emmy, why do you have a gun?” Hershel stared.

  
“It’s just a prop, no worries, Professor. When you travel in some places, you have to state your dominance…”

  
“Thank you, Emmy,” Desmond said, “Now we’ll just have to wait for her to wake up.”

  
A lot of time passed before she eventually did wake up; this caused everyone to realise just how hard Paul had hit her with the frying pan.

  
When eventually Rosetta did rise, everyone except Desmond cleared out of the room.

  
“I’ll come with you. You’re not having the gun back.” He said coolly, looking down at her.

  
“Y'know, I’m getting flashbacks, Professor S. You being all shaky and nervous, telling me your entire life story… our kiss,” She was instantly cocky again, “Come on then. With me.”

  
Rosetta made Desmond leave the flat first, in order to make sure that he didn’t try anything. She wanted to have a close eye on him.

  
“Where are you taking me?” He asked.

  
“Oh, don’t worry about that, you’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, a devious smile on her lips.

  
“At least tell me what your plan is for me,” Desmond needed at least something to work off.

  
“All in good time, okay?” Rosetta allowed herself a giggle at a personal inside joke as she led him to a rather unremarkable car, “Go on, in the passenger seat.”

  
Desmond sighed and entered the car.

  
“I expected something flashier from you, I’ll be honest,” He said dryly.

  
“I’m a university student, I think you forget.”

  
“A university student who somehow acquired a gun.”

  
“I have my methods.”

  
“That you do. Did you use blackmail for that, as well?”

  
“I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Desmond.”

  
Desmond fell silent as Rosetta started up the car, trying to guess where they would be going. With every corner they took, possibilities were eliminated and suggested to him, but none seemed viable.

  
“You know, I just find it so funny. You’re this big scary criminal, capable of killing sea monsters or whatever, and manipulating people into doing anything you want, and here you are, like putty in my hands. I could make you do anything, say anything, all because I know your secret. They’re hardly going to suspect a simpering, swooning schoolgirl of anything, now are they?” Rosetta smirked, “I could do anything.”

  
“You couldn’t do anything. You aren’t that good.”

  
“Oh, dearie me, you really are clueless.”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“I’m a genius, Desmond. I would have thought you’d know that at least.”

  
“I admit, you are intelligent, but I wouldn’t quite say genius. I think you’re just getting a bit big for your own boots.”

  
“Hmph, whatever floats your boat,” Rosetta said, “I know what’s right.”

  
Desmond rolled his eyes.

  
“An inflated ego is always the fastest route to a downfall,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

  
He was ignored in favour of focusing on turning into a car park.

  
“We’re here,” She stopped the car and opened his door, “Out.”

  
“Where are we?” Desmond said, not wanting to get out of the car before having more information.

  
“That doesn’t matter, now get out of the car!”

  
“No, not until you tell me where you’ve brought me.”

  
“I said out!” Rosetta snapped, grabbing Desmond’s arm and pulling him out of his seat.

  
Desmond staggered to keep his balance and stood up, looking around.

  
“What is this place, Rosetta?” He asked, shielding his eyes from the bright winter sunshine.

  
“Ooh, ‘what is this place, Rosetta?’, 'where are we, Rosetta?’, 'what are you going to do to me, Rosetta?’. Don’t you ever shut up?” The annoyed words shot from Rosetta’s mouth in puffs of warm breath.

  
“I won’t shut up until I know what I want to know.”

  
“And I’m not going to tell you. And I really don’t want a headache…”

  
A fluid motion brought Desmond down to Rosetta’s height, and within a second, she had gagged him.

  
“I did want to do this nicely.”

  
Desmond tried to take the gag off, but before he had the chance, Rosetta had already tied his hands behind his back.

  
“Oh, Professor Sycamore, don’t look so angry, you brought this on yourself.”

  
The protestations from Desmond were muffled as Rosetta pushed him forward, and his eyes widened as he felt the gun in his waistband dislodge and clatter to the ground.

  
“Oh, it was a gun in your pocket,” Rosetta smirked, reclaiming the weapon and pressing it into his spine, “I really did think you would have been a little pleased to see me at least.”

  
Another futile, annoyed grunt from the Professor.

  
“Continue on, Desmond.”

  
Desmond continued walking, making sure he was extra careful to not trip over anything. If he did, he didn’t have his hands to stop him falling flat on his face.

  
As they neared what looked to be a warehouse, Desmond heard something. Water?

  
“Ahh, you heard it. So, what’s your guess, where are w- oh wait, you can’t say.” Rosetta was enjoying his silence, revelling in it.

  
Desmond knew now, though. He knew where they were. Mersyshore Docks, famous lurking ground for many a mobster and petty criminal alike. Where were they doing there, and what did Rosetta want from him?

  
Desmond nervously looked around to see if he could see any criminals watching him. He so desperately wanted to ask why Rosetta had brought him here, of all places, but he couldn’t. He still had that infernal gag in his mouth.

  
Upon entering the warehouse, Desmond could now see several groups of people, and they were all staring back at him and Rosetta. But they didn’t look shocked; they looked almost as if they were expecting them.

  
“Here we go, Desmond. You can talk now, if you promise not to shout. I get pretty bad migraines easily, you see,” Rosetta reached up and untied his gag.

  
Desmond spat out the cloth with a shudder, his mouth dry.

  
“What the hell is this, Rosetta? What are you planning to do to me?” He growled, glaring at her.

  
“Ah, ah, ah, that part’s still a surprise,” she said, wagging her finger at him.

  
At that moment, a man that was part of one of the groups began walking towards them. Rosetta smiled at him, implying that they had met before.

  
“Please, if you would, find our friend somewhere ‘comfortable’, Keelan.” She said overly sweetly, “But make sure we can still chat to him. I’d like to see his face when he finally gets it.”

  
Desmond was pushed over to the man, who pulled him through the eerily quiet warehouse and to a rickety metal chair.

  
“Get your hands off me!”

  
The professor glared and struggled for all he was worth, but it was futile. He was handcuffed to the chair by the silent man.

  
“Who are you? What do you want with me? Let me out of here! Desmond shouted as he began to panic.

  
He didn’t think that this situation would go this way at all. He thought it would have gone smoother than this. He certainly thought that he’d at least know what was going on.

  
“Desmond, Desmond, please. You’re embarrassing me, and didn’t I already tell you I get migrates?” Rosetta seated herself on a dusty sofa.

  
She looked so out of place here, among mobsters and thugs, but the way she carried herself told Desmond that this was where she carried power.

  
“What’s your connection here?” He asked, “It’s obvious you got the gun here, no doubt all the recording equipment too… How? Why are they listening to you?”

  
Rosetta rolled her eyes.

  
“You really are dense, aren’t you?” She smirked, then turned to an office in one corner, “Daddy, I’m home!”

  
A voice could be heard from the office, “Is that my Rosetta?”

  
The door to the office opened wider and a man stepped out. He was wearing a very clean, smart suit and tie. He looked as if he was in charge of the whole operation.

  
Desmond swore violently as Rosetta jumped up.

  
“Missed you, Daddy!” She chirped, hugging her father, “I brought the guy; Desmond Sycamore.”

  
The intimidating figure of Rosetta Stone’s father looked up from the fond embrace with his daughter.

  
“Ah, Jean Descole, correct?”

  
“Yes, Daddy.”

  
“He’s the one that’s been giving you trouble?”

  
“Uh-huh.”

  
Desmond scoffed, unable to keep in his scorn.

  
“You ran to your dad? That’s pathetic!”

  
“Well, you ran to your brother, didn’t you? Is that any better?” Rosetta’s father pointed out.

  
“Yes, but I didn’t make him keep anyone hostage!”

  
“You still couldn’t sort this out on your own, Professor.”

  
Desmond huffed.

  
“Am I allowed an explanation yet? I think I deserve one now, I can’t exactly go anywhere.”

  
“Everyone out.” Rosetta’s father ordered coolly, “You have jobs to be doing, no?”

  
The entirety of the warehouse emptied in a moment, and Desmond was left with the two people he would least like to be around at that moment. Rosetta stalked over and draped herself on a sofa, giggling to herself.

  
“To put it simply, you are a vile human being, Sycamore,” the suited man said, folding his arms and standing in front of the chair, “You threaten my daughter - more than once - because she was interested in something, then you kiss her, totally against her will? You visit her at her home to do god knows what. I order hits, and even I feel sick at the sight of you.”

  
Behind her father, Rosetta sent an innocent grin to Sycamore. He glared back. She’d been lying to her own father!

  
“Excuse me?” Desmond said, completely and utterly disgusted at Rosetta’s lying, “You don’t really believe any of that do you? I would never do such things!”

  
“Answer me this, Sycamore: who you think I’m going to believe? My own daughter, or an insane master criminal?”

  
“That’s not me anymore! I’ve put all that behind me. I was trying to live a normal life until your daughter showed up and ruined everything!”

  
“Watch what you say about my daughter, Sycamore,” The mob leader growled, taking a gun from his pocket and casually loading it.

  
“Oh, Daddy, don’t kill him…” Rosetta said, sounding a little bored, “At least not right off. That’s no fun at all.”

  
The man chuckled.

  
“I’ve taught you well, sweetheart.” He praised.

  
“You’ve taught her to lie too well, if I may say so.” Desmond snarked.

  
He whipped back to glare at Desmond.

  
“Do you not know who I am?! I would strongly advise you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  
“Actually, no, I don’t. Can I have a name?”

  
“Christopher Stone. Honestly, I’m surprised that an intelligent man such as yourself has never heard of me.”

  
“Well, Christopher, can you explain why your daughter is a lying, manipulative bitch?”

  
Christopher glared at Desmond, fury boiling underneath his skin. He raised his gun and rammed it into the side of Desmond’s head.

  
Desmond yelled out in pain, losing balance on the chair and crashing to the ground. Rosetta sniggered and covered her mouth.

  
“I’m going to say something, so you listen carefully. You are the scum of this planet. You stole my wife, and now you’ve assaulted and threatened my daughter. I will have no mercy if you don’t comply.”

  
“S-Stole your wife?”

  
“You know what you did, you bastard.”

  
“I really don’t think I do!”

  
Christopher knelt down beside him, pressing the gun to his cheek.

  
“Oh, do I really have to explain everything.”

  
“If it’s not an inconvenience,” Desmond spat back.

  
“Olivia was mine first.”

  
Desmond stared.

  
“Did you just say…?”

  
“Olivia, yes, do keep up.”

  
Desmond’s stomach sunk, and he felt like he was tumbling into a pit of despair. That was his wife.

  
“It was our wedding day, and you stole her away from me!”

  
“I didn’t steal her; she never wanted to marry you! Leaving you at the altar was her choice. She only came to me because I was nice to her. Unlike you.”

  
Desmond remembered the day vividly. He never thought it would come back to haunt him.

  
“Do you enjoy ruining lives, Sycamore? Stealing my love, threatening my daughter,” Christopher tutted, “I’d say you were dead set on causing me pain.”

  
“I didn’t do either of those things! Why do you believe these lies!” Desmond protested.

  
“Because they are not lies!” Christopher kicked Desmond in the stomach, growling, “Olivia left me and fell straight into your arms!”

  
“She did not! I comforted her, because you hurt her! The fact we got together later is nothing to do with it!” Desmond growled.

  
“And how do you want to explain away threatening and kissing my daughter, you bastard?”

  
Christopher tossed photos down to him, showing both incidents.

  
“Okay, first of all, I only threatened her because she was hurting my family. And I only kissed her because she asked me to; she blackmailed me! She said if I didn’t she’d release my identity to the press.”

  
Desmond focused on the photographs. They were of high quality, and it was almost like whoever took them knew what was going to happen; like all of it was planned.

  
“Uh-huh, sure. Just admit it, you’re sick and twisted. Where is Olivia now? I’m taking her back.” Christopher growled.

  
Desmond swore mentally. If he told the truth… There was no bargaining chip. If he didn’t, there was… No bargaining chip.

  
Either way, he was screwed.

  
“Tell me!”

  
Rosetta was watching with a thoughtful look on her face, tilting her head. It dawned on Desmond then that she probably didn’t know how her father had acted to Olivia, why he was hated so much by him. Another swear word jumped into his head.

  
“She died.” Rosetta said suddenly, gasping, “She… And her daughter…”

  
The girl’s face fell into one of utter despair as she realised this.

  
“Mum died. I had a sister…”

  
Christopher looked like he was about to explode at this point.

  
“You probably killed them, you sick motherfucker!” He screamed, gun pointed directly at Desmond.

  
“No! No I didn’t!”

  
“Well then who did?!”

  
“Let me explain!”

  
The older man calmed down now. He put the gun back near his side.

  
“Go on then,” he instructed.

  
“Targent. The leader of Targent killed them. My research on the Azran was getting to a point that they deemed too advanced. In an attempt to stop me, they killed my wife and daughter.”

  
“So it was your fault after all.”

  
“Not at all! I was trying to live my life like a normal person for once, and they came and ruined it! Just like you and your daughter have done!”

  
“If you blame Rosetta for one more th-”

  
“Daddy… Please stop.”

  
Rosetta took the gun from her father’s hands, her eye filled with tears. Desmond stared at her, uncomprehending.

  
“This is all wrong. I hate Sycamore, but… is killing him the right thing to do?” She absentmindedly twirled the gun.

  
Could it be? Had Rosetta seen sense?

  
“Please, Daddy. Our family was destroyed, and look what it did to us…”

  
“But, sweetheart, he’s evil, he deserves it!”

  
“No he doesn’t. Nobody does. Nobody deserves to have their family taken away from them. Not even Jean Descole.”

  
“Rosetta, you’re talking nonsense.” Christopher’s voice hardened.

  
“Daddy, please!” Rosetta protested, folding her arms, “Do whatever, but don’t kill him!”

  
Christopher glared at Rosetta.

  
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growled.

  
“Just listen to me. Have I ever failed you before?”

  
“No, but you are not in charge here, Rosetta!”

  
Rosetta was startled by her father’s harshness towards her.

  
“Daddy, listen to me!” She shouted, totally unused to not getting her own way, “If you dare kill him, I’ll never talk to you again! Nobody deserves to lose their family like that.”

  
“Rosetta, you listen to me for once in your wretched life, you mistake. This man took away everything I ever cared for and forced me to bring you up alone, alongside an entire crime ring. Do you think that was easy? No. He deserves everything he gets. And what he’s getting is a bullet in his brain.”

  
Christopher prepared the gun, finger on the trigger. And then he shot.

  
The shot rang through the air, and the victim fell to the ground with a thud. Christopher dropped the gun, shocked by his own actions.

  
Desmond swore viciously as Rosetta let out a scream of pain, falling to the ground. He never would have thought that… Was she…? No, still breathing, he could just hear her from where his chair was spilled on the ground.

  
“Rosetta, I told you to stay out of this!” Christopher roared, backing away ad blood began to pour from a bullet wound in his daughter’s stomach.

  
She had pushed him as he had shot, and the resulting arm movements had… And now she was…

  
That gunshot would have been heard, and right about now was the police patrol. He had planned this down to the minute, perfectly so that Desmond’s body would be found just in time. But now that body would be his daughter’s. He had to leave.

  
“This is your fucking fault, Sycamore.”

  
Christopher ran out of the building through a back door, leaving his daughter’s body still on the floor.

  
Desmond began to panic. He was stuck here, and the police would show up at any second. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to pulls his wrists out of the bonds, but it was a futile effort.

  
“Press them in.” Rosetta gasped out, clutching her stomach.

  
Desmond looked over to the girl, then understood. They were trick cuffs; he’d had to use them once or twice himself, when he couldn’t get the actual ones and he needed to scare someone into giving him information. He quickly released the cuffs and staggered to his feet, prepared to escape.

  
“Please!” A shout stopped him in his tracks, “Don’t leave me! I don’t want to die!”

  
He turned back around and looked down at the conniving, sneaky, manipulative bitch of a girl, saw the pain and desperation in her eyes.

  
Hershel would. But… What she had done… Could he?

  
He bit his lip. Time was running out for her. He couldn’t leave her, she would surely die. And he couldn’t sneak her out the back either; he didn’t know how to take care of a bullet wound. She needed to go to hospital.

  
He had to do what was right.

  
Desmond picked her up carefully, making sure not to make the injury worse. He took her out of the door to the front of the building, where there were many a police officer gathered, as well as some journalists.

  
“Can someone please phone an ambulance!” He shouted to anyone that would listen, “This girl’s been shot, she needs medical attention immediately!”

  
There were, of course, the gasps of ‘It’s him!’ and 'What happened?’, but Desmond saw one member of the group calling, and breathed out.

  
“Put down the girl!” A police officer aimed their gun at him, “Then get on your knees, hands behind your head!”

  
Desmond obliged.

  
_So this is how I go down. Saving the life of the person that made sure I was on the run anyway. Can’t say much for this gentleman lark_ , he thought, hands shaking.

  
“Desmond Sycamore, I am arresting you on multiple charges of kidnapping, large-scale destruction, blackmail, and the shooting of Rosetta Stone. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in as evidence,” an officer was listing off as his hands were cuffed.

  
This wasn’t exactly how I planned the day to go.

  
Meanwhile, back at Paul’s, the rest of the group were worrying deeply. They had no idea what was happening with Rosetta. They had no idea where she’d taken Desmond. And, for the moment, they had no idea that the police had apprehended Desmond.

  
It wasn’t until Desmond was allowed a call that they learnt of the situation. Flora was the one to pick up; she’d been apprehensively waiting by the phone, and had picked up at least two calls from an electricity company demanding payment from Paul, which she had quickly ended.

  
“Uncle Desmond? Where are you, what happened?!” She nearly shouted down the phone.

  
“Hello, sweetpea… put me on speaker, hm? And quickly, I only have a few minutes,” Desmond sounded defeated.

  
Flora called everyone to be quiet, and they gathered around with baited breath.

  
“Rosetta Stone, daughter of famous mobster Christopher Stone, who I may well have managed to accidentally piss off by marrying his ex, is dead. He went to shoot me, she jumped and it hit her. Long story short, she needed an ambulance, and I got arrested for my troubles. This gentleman thing doesn’t work for criminals, Hershel.”

  
Flora was bawling her eyes out. Everything they had struggled to do was for nothing. They had been in hiding for nothing, she had been willing to sacrifice her freedom for nothing. And now Rosetta was dead. None of this should have happened. They were supposed to be a happy family and live a normal life together in London. But no; nothing ever seems to work out for the best.

  
“Oi, is that Layton? He’s wanted too,” Chelmey’s voice sounded from the other end of the phone, “Turn yourself in, Professor; you’ll have a shorter sentence.”

  
The younger professor sighed. There was nothing else he could do; they’d find him eventually.

  
“Paul, Emmy… I leave Flora in your capable hands.” He said slowly, kissing his daughter’s head one last time as she sobbed into the sofa cushions.

  
He stood numbly and stepped out of the flat before anyone could think to stop him.

  
“We’ll help them, won’t we?” Flora choked out, a very small ounce of hope in her voice.

  
“We’ll find a way, don’t you worry,” Emmy consoled the younger girl, pulling her into a hug.

  
Emmy wasn’t sure how true her own words were, but for the time being, hope was all they had to get by.

  
“Hershel Layton, I am arresting you on charges of aiding the criminal Desmond Sycamore, and perverting the course of justice. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” Chelmey wasn’t able to believe he was actually saying those words, attaching them to that name, “It’s always the quiet ones…”

  
And then Hershel Layton was jailed. Left with his thoughts.

  
“Flora… I’m so sorry…”

  
It was all he could think. He’d failed her, and she would never see him again, even after his sentence was over. They didn’t allow criminals to adopt.


	7. Chapter 7

Days went by since Desmond and Hershel were arrested, but the fact hadn’t sunk in for anybody yet. Flora continued to make extra cups of tea, not realising her mistake at first. Paul kept expecting Desmond to be there to make a sarcastic comment any time he did something wrong. Emmy just couldn’t believe what had happened. There were two large, professor shaped gaps in all three of their lives.

  
It was a fortnight before Flora brought up the subject no one wanted to talk about.

  
“When they work out where I am… Am I going to go into care?” She asked one night as the three of them pushed eggs around their plates, not meeting eyes.

  
“I suppose so… Neither of us are exactly on the right side of the law.” Emmy mumbled, shifting so she could give the girl a hug.

  
“But they’ll get here eventually, and I don’t want you two getting in more trouble because of me.” Flora sighed, “I’m going to visit Papa and Uncle Desmond tomorrow, and they can take me into care then. You can visit as often as you like.”

  
By the way she was speaking, it was obvious she had planned this for a while now.

  
“Kid…” Paul looked disheartened at the idea, but understood, “You be good then, hm?”

  
The next day came quickly, and Flora went to see Desmond and Hershel as soon as she could. She said a long farewell to Emmy and Paul before leaving.

  
Visiting hours at this prison weren’t particularly long, but they were long enough to say what needed to be said.

  
Flora explained that she was going into care; something that neither professor was very happy about.

  
They discussed their prison sentence at length as well.

  
“Is there any way to get you out early?”Flora asked.

  
“We’re both eligible for bail, but it’s so high that no one could even dream of affording it,” Desmond explained solemnly.

  
The girl sighed, trying to not cry. She didn’t want what could well be the Professors’ last memories of her to be tearstained. It was just… Seeing them in the prison jumpsuits, both coloured for ‘Highly Dangerous’… That wasn’t who they were, it wasn’t!

  
“I… I could…” A plan popped into mind, “The village, Papa! My father’s fortune!”

  
Hershel gasped and stared.

  
“Flora, y-”

  
“Visiting hours are up, kid. Time to go. You’ve got a social worker waiting.”

  
A guard looked down at her, and she sniffed.

  
“I’ll see you again one day, Papa, Uncle Desmond… I promise!”

  
She quickly hugged each of them, pressing kisses to their cheeks.

  
“Time to go…”

  
“I’ll miss you!”

  
“We’ll miss you too,” Hershel said, even thought Flora was now too far away to be able to hear him.

  
“What was she talking about?” Desmond asked, “A village?”

  
“The village she grew up in; St Mystere. Her father left her a massive fortune, but she refused to take it, as it would mean all of the robot villagers would cease to function.”

  
Outside the prison, Flora was herded into a brightly coloured car.

  
“My name’s Leanne, but you can call me Lee, if you want. I’m your social worker from now on, okay?” A woman introduced herself, “You’re Flora, right?”

  
“Yes. But I won’t need a social worker for long. I’m going to be with my dad and uncle again soon,” Flora said, sounding sullen.

  
“I’m sure you will, dearie. Now let’s get you to the Home before everyone goes to bed. Got all your luggage?” Leanne smiled patronisingly, and Flora ignored her, already mentally drafting a letter to Paul.

  
A couple of days later, Paul was only just waking up when he heard a knock on the door. He didn’t expect it to be anyone he knew, as they all seemed to have disappeared one by one.

  
He was right, it was only the postman.

  
“Hello, Paul!” He said in a cheerful voice, “I have a letter for you.”

  
Paul stared at the postman, wondering what he had to be so cheery about, and then he took the letter.

  
“Thanks,” he said, shutting the door.

  
Paul opened the envelope and started reading.

  
“Emmy!” He called.

  
“Yes?”

  
“I’ve got a letter from Flora.”

  
“Oh, tell me what it says then!”

  
“Dear Paul; As you know, I went to visit Papa and Uncle Desmond the other day. They informed me that they could be bailed out, but that we would need a very large sum of money to do so. So I’ve come up with a plan. Back in St Mystere, my father left me a massive fortune, but at the time I didn’t want to take it. I need you and Emmy to go and get it for me, as I can’t go myself. But before taking the money I need you to seek out a man named Bruno and tell him to adjust the robots so that they keep running after my father’s fortune is taken. I wish you both the best of luck. Love from, Flora.”

  
The unlikely duo shared a look, and then smiled. They’d be getting two of the people they were missing back soon.

  
“We should leave immediately!” Emmy decided, swinging her ever-prepared bag onto her back.

  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Emmy… How do you intend on getting there?” Paul stopped her, “You can’t hitchhike the entire way there, and there’s no way you could bring the money back in a public car. Calm it, and let’s make some plans first, okay?”

  
The two sat in silence for a while, deep in thought.

  
Suddenly, the phone rang. It wasn’t a number either Paul or Emmy recognised.

  
“Hello?” Paul said, answering the call.

  
“Hello, Paul. It’s Raymond. I’ve heard about the recent predicament regarding the professors and Flora. But I think I can help. Meet me down by the old airship station.”

  
“Okey dokey, pal.”

  
Raymond hung up.

  
“Grab your coat, Emmy. We’ve got somewhere to be.

  
The two arrived at the airship station, Emmy having explained about the Azran expedition, and how they had gotten around during it. She hoped dearly that his was what it was all about.

  
“Raymond!” Emmy waved at the man, who was sat at a bench, looking much more aged than the last time they had all seen him.

  
“Ah, Miss Emmy, Mr Paul, I’m glad you made it,” Raymond stood and gestured for them to follow him, “I heard that you would be in need of transport, you see, and it’s all I can do to offer you something a little faster than a car.”

  
Raymond’s speech was slow and halting, and both the others were noticing it. Emmy bit her lip and picked at fluff on the jumper tied around her waist to stop herself thinking about what that meant for the kind butler.

  
Emmy gasped when she saw what Raymond had been leading them to. It was the Bostonius, in all her former glory.

  
“It still flies?” She asked.

  
“Of course. How do you think I’ve been getting around these past few years?” Raymond smiled.

  
“Now this is a machine!” Paul grinned and examined the Bostonius, “What a beauty.”

  
He began rattling off overly technical terms that Emmy didn’t understand or care to remember, excitedly chatting to Raymond about the… engines. Probably. She shrugged and entered the Bostonius, remembering the last few times she had done.

  
“Ah, it’s still so grand!” She grinned, snapping a few photos, “I love it!”

  
Raymond chuckled.

  
“Well, we’d best get going if we want to get to our destination before dark,” he said as Paul stared in awe at the controls.

  
Raymond started the engine and took the wheel. The journey to St Mystere was a long one when travelling by car, but it would be much shorter when travelling on the Bostonius. At one point, Raymond even let Paul take control for a while. He was a good pilot, but Emmy felt much safer with Raymond flying.

  
When they landed outside the village, they were greeted by a man who could rival Raymond for age.

  
“Flora sent word ahead; you’re the ones come to take the Baron’s fortune, hm? The name’s Bruno, good to meet you,” the man offered a handshake, and was quickly greeted by Emmy and Paul.

  
Raymond had decided to stay back on the airship and perform some repairs to keep her in top condition for the return flight, so the duo were on their own as they were led through the strangely quiet village.

  
“So… these people are all robots?” Emmy asked, staring in amazement.

  
“It’s a feat of technology not even I’ve mastered,” Paul grumbled, “Would love to take one home.”

  
“Well, you can’t,” Bruno said sternly, “They belong here.”

  
“But won’t they stop when we take the fortune? Is there any way to stop that?” Emmy asked.

  
“I think I’ll be able to make some adjustments. It should be fine.”

  
“Right, that’s good. Where’s this fortune then?” Paul got straight to the point.

  
“In the manor. If you’ve found our dear Golden Apple, it should be easy to get to. I need get to work on the adjustments,” Bruno tipped his cap and headed through a clock tower.

  
Emmy raised an eyebrow.

  
“What did he mean ‘Golden Apple’?” She asked Paul.

  
“Oh, that’s Flora,” he answered with a shrug, “No idea what that’s got to do with anything else though.”

  
“Well let’s get to the manor and see, then!” Emmy grinned, pointing along the street.

  
They made their way to the manor through the streets on St Mystere, saying hello to the various villagers that they passed. They certainly were masterpieces; they didn’t look like robots at all. They talked and moved as if they were real people. Bruno was definitely a genius.

  
After being stopped for the tenth time to solve a puzzle, though, Paul was starting to get tetchy.

  
“All we came here for was the fortune, not an insight into what it’s like in Layton’s brain!” He grumbled to himself as they made it into the manor at last.

  
Emmy giggled, amused by her friend’s comment.

  
“Okay, so Bruno said if we found the Golden Apple, or Flora, the fortune would be simple to find,” she recalled, looking around the entrance hall.

  
“Oh, don’t tell me we have to solve another puzzle…” Paul bemoaned.

  
“Oh, come on, puzzles aren’t that bad. Let’s have a look around.”

  
They must have explored the entire manor before they found anything that they thought would hold the secret to the fortune’s location. But, as it turned out, they found something in the place where they started.

  
“Hey, that’s Flora, isn’t it?” Paul asked, pointing to a painting on the wall.

  
“Yeah. So it’s the Golden Apple. Maybe the painting is the key.”

  
“I’ll have a look behind it.”

  
Paul tried to pick up the picture, but he pressed something that made the building rumble.

  
“I think you did it!” Emmy said excitedly, gesturing towards the bookcase that was now moving.

  
“I don’t think that’s how it was supposed to be done, but I’m not about to complain.” Paul shrugged, strolling to the shelf and peeking past.

  
Piles of gold bars and coins, shining jewels and stacks of money greeted the pair.

  
“Jackpot!” Paul could barely contain his excitement, “There’s enough here to bail those two out fifty times over, and then some!”

  
Emmy stared, stunned.

  
“Oh my… She refused all this, just to keep her village alive…” The woman smiled, “She’s so lovely, isn’t she?”

  
But Paul was barely listening, more focused on gathering the gold into sacks that he’d brought.

  
“Gonna help, Altava?” He grinned, tossing her one of the sacks, “Or don’t you want them out of prison by tomorrow?”

  
“Of course I do! But remember this is Flora’s. You can’t take any for yourself.”

  
“As if I would,” Paul faked being offended.

  
They duo gathered as much as they could carry without dropping anything and began walking back to the Bostonius.

  
They noticed that the villagers were no longer moving. Flora wasn’t kidding when she said they’d stop once the fortune was touched.

  
“It’s like a ghost town now… Like one of those dead carnivals where you think the carousel’s going to play by itself, or the ferris wheel’ll chase you…” Emmy said, slightly unnerved.

  
Paul let out a small snigger at this, covering it with his sleeve.

  
“Huh? What’s so funny?” Emmy turned to him.

  
“Nothing, nothing…” Paul shook his head, “Hey, at least we’re not getting puzzles foisted on us left, right and centre now.”

  
Emmy hummed in agreement as they reached the drawbridge out of the village.

  
Raymond was waiting there for them. He took a sack of gold out of Emmy’s arms and carried it back to the Bostonius.

  
“Right, now to get Desmond and Hershel out of prison!” Emmy said happily.

  
“We should stop by and visit Flora first. Y'know, update the kid on the situation,” Paul didn’t want to admit that he’d actually missed the small ray of sunshine, and was pretty worried for how care was treating her, “I - ahem - have the address here.”

  
Emmy raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. It was nice to see him softening up a little.

  
“Please, you two, seat yourselves for takeoff,” Raymond requested as he started the Bostonius up.

  
Sooner rather than later, they were back at the old airship station in London. Raymond told Emmy and Paul to go ahead without him, as he wanted to stay with the Bostonius.

  
“I’ll catch up with you soon,” he told them.

  
Since Emmy and Paul didn’t have another mode of transportation other than their own feet, they had to walk to the Home where Flora was now living.

  
They knocked at the door hopefully, and smiled at the man who opened it.

  
“How can I help you two?” He asked, eyes flickering to two children hovering by the door leading into another room, “I’ll be there in a moment, you two, start without me.”

  
“Hello, we’re here to talk to Flora… We’re friends of hers and we haven’t seen her since she went into care. Is there any chance we could…?” Emmy trailed off as the man hummed.

  
“Good luck with it. She hasn’t spoken to anyone since she got here, but you’re welcome to try. She’s in the music room just there, probably. If not, her room’s up the stairs and to the right,” He pointed, then looked to the children again, “I have to deal with these two, the other worker’s at the hospital with someone else.”

  
Paul and Emmy exchanged a look, then stepped in.

  
They followed the sound of music being played on a piano, assuming that it must be coming from the music room. Sure enough, Flora was in there. She was practicing her piano skills; she had always known how to play, but she was working on getting better at it.

  
The girl was wearing an oversized shirt, and a worn pair of jeans, and didn’t look up at the entrance of the two. The look on her face was a mix between sullen and concentrated, a mile away from her usual self.

  
“Flora, it’s us. Are you okay, kid?” Paul pulled up a chair next to her, and watched her misplace her fingers on the keys at the voice.

  
She looked up and stared, momentarily confused.

  
“Paul? Emmy? It’s you?!” Her face suddenly brightened, and she flung herself into the mechanic’s arms, “I missed you so much!”

  
Surprisingly, Paul hugged her back.

  
“We missed you too. We got the cash, we’re gonna go bail Layton and Sycamore out,” he told her.

  
“And what about the villagers? Is Bruno still going to look after them?”

  
“Yeah, they stopped when we took the money, but he said he’s going to make some adjustments to make sure they still keep doing their thing.”

  
“Thank goodness…” Flora smiled to herself, still hugging Paul.

  
Neither noticed as Emmy snapped an adorable picture of the two.

  
“But how’re things here, kid? What’s this about you going mute?” Paul asked, patting her shoulder as she sat back in her seat.

  
“The people here are nice enough, but… I just don’t like talking to them. They’re all strangers, and some are rude, or just too loud. Plus I miss all my friends at school,” Flora shrugged, “It’s not a big deal; I’ll be out of here soon enough anyway, so there’s no point making friends…”

  
“Fair enough, I suppose.”

  
“Well, we better be going,” Emmy pointed out, “The sooner we pay the bail the better. We’ll see you as soon as we can, Flora. I promise.”

  
“Bye then.” Flora sighed quietly and hugged both visitors again, wishing they could stay longer, “See you soon.”

  
She waved them off and returned to playing on the piano, no more convinced to talk to any of the other people in the Home.

  
“Dinner’s ready, Flora, come on!” Came the call of the care worker from earlier.

  
Flora sighed, got up from the piano, and prepared herself for another meal in silence with loud children and multiple messes.

  
The prison was in a remote part of London, so it took a while for Emmy and Paul to actually find it.

  
“Is this it?” Paul sounded a little apprehensive and, looking up at the grey, barbed wire-topped walls, Emmy could understand why.

  
“Yes. I’ve been here before,” She said, “Just the once, to visit Uncle Leon.”

  
Paul nodded. In the days they’d spent together, both of them had gotten to talking about their pasts, so he was up to speed.

  
“The Professor must be totally freaked out; this place houses some… bad people.” Emmy considered as they walked in, past security scanners and metal detectors.

  
“Bad people like…”

  
“Murderers, terrorists, blackmailers… You name it, this place has it.”

  
They reached the main office and rapped on the door, both of them nervous.

  
“Hello, how can I help you?” A bored receptionist asked them.

  
“Yes, hello, we’re here to bail out Hershel Layton and Desmond Sycamore,” Emmy explained.

  
“Bail is set at £250,000 for each of them. Do you have the money with you?”

  
“We do. Paul, hand over the money.”

  
Paul gave the money to the receptionist who counted it carefully, which admittedly took a long time. After confirming the amount, the woman pressed a button on a microphone.

  
“Bring Sycamore and Layton out,” she said, “Their bail’s been paid.”

  
After a while, the two were finally brought out in plain grey clothes, looking considerably worse for the wear than when they went in. Both were bruised, and neither looked well rested.

  
“Hershel, Desmond, what happened to you both?!” Emmy was astounded.

  
“We may have-” Desmond started, adjusting broken glasses.

  
“You may have,” Hershel corrected as they walked over.

  
“Fine. I may have gotten into a fight.”

  
“I attempted to aid him.”

  
“We both had our arses handed to us. But don’t worry, it’s nothing we can’t handle; we’ll be better after a good night’s rest and some actual food.”

  
“Come on, let’s get you two home,” Emmy said, gently hugging them both.

  
Hershel and Desmond collected their belongings and exited the prison, relieved to finally be free and able to live a normal life.

  
The next day, a little bit of the fortune was spent on rushing adoption paperwork, and - since Hershel was no longer able to be Flora’s legal father - Emmy became her adoptive mother. In truth, the two felt closer as sisters or friends, and to anyone that asked what their relation was, that would probably be the case.

  
The group was relaxing in Layton’s flat, all tired after a long, emotionally and physically exhausting day, when there came a very quiet knock at the door.

  
No one was expecting a visitor, so they were all confused as to whom it could be that had knocked.

  
Hershel hauled himself out of his seat and went to open the door.

  
And, like a bad penny, Rosetta Stone stood at the door. This time, she didn’t wield a gun, and her eyes were full, not with malice, but tears.

  
“I never meant for it to go this far.” She breathed, voice choked with tears.

  
Being shot. That’s what it had taken for her to see the error of her ways.

  
“Rosetta, you aren’t welcome here,” Hershel told her sternly, refusing to let his face show any emotion.

  
“Please. I want to apologise. All of this is my fault, at least let me try to earn your forgiveness?” Rosetta begged, looking desperate.

  
“I’m not certain there’s a way for you to do that.” Hershel’s voice was icy.

  
“Please, I have to do something!” She pushed, tears tracking down her face, “I didn’t know Daddy would do that, I didn’t know Desmond would save me! I- I just wanted revenge on the person that took me away from my mum. I was trying to scare him away so he wouldn’t... couldn’t come back, and so I could get Mum back. I know what I did was horrible, but I never dreamed it would go as far as it did, and I never wanted you to get involved, or your daughter, or anyone else at all!”

  
“Hershel, is everything okay out here?”

  
Desmond looked out from the kitchen, where he was helping Flora bake a cake. He saw the young woman at the door and growled under his breath, limping over with a crutch to hold him upright.

  
“What are you doing here?” He snarled.

  
“I came to try and make amends.”

  
“Leave. I may have saved you, but that doesn’t mean we are even close to being on good terms.”

  
Rosetta noticed his crutch.

  
“What happened to you?” She asked.

  
“Prison happened. There are a lot of angry people in there, so people often get hurt. The staff don’t care in the slightest. They let people get hurt,” Desmond replied in a tone that suggested blame.

  
Rosetta winced and sighed.

  
“I know I did terrible things, and honestly I don’t expect you to forgive me, even if I am truly, truly sorry… But I need some sort of… closure. My daddy’s gone, I don’t know where. The police cleared the warehouse totally. I have nowhere to go. Since I’m undoubtedly off the archaeology course, I can’t exactly stay living at Gressenheller, and I’m not exactly rich. I have no friends, no means to support myself, and I find myself hating myself more and more each day for what I’ve done to your family. Please, let me do something, anything to make amends!” She pleaded, staring up at the two professors unblinkingly.

  
Desmond didn’t respond, he just looked away. He wanted nothing to do with this girl, but at the same time he didn’t want to tell her no. This was Hershel’s home, so he decided to let him decide what to do.

  
Rosetta looked back to Hershel, wiping away her tears. She was truly desperate for some sort of redemption, Hershel could see that, but she had cause him and his family so much pain…

  
But he was a gentleman. Gentlemen forgave, didn’t they?

  
He raised a hand to his hat, which he had been gratefully reunited with, and wondered what Claire would do in this impossible situation. Stay strong, be the better man… It all seemed ridiculous given the circumstances. He had given second chances to so many criminals - two of them now sat in his front room, bantering back and forth about puzzles - but this was a whole different level.

  
“Please, Professor Layton.”

  
And Hershel sighed. Compassion had always been his weakness.

  
“Archaeology lectures with Doctor Hart start next week on Gressenheller’s other campus. The other side of London.”

  
“You’d get me in that class?”

  
“Of course. That’s what a gentleman does,” Hershel said with a smile.

  
Rosetta beamed. Her tears dried up and a big smile adorned her features.

  
“Thank you so much, Professor!”

  
She wanted to hug him, but she knew that she shouldn’t overstep the boundaries.

  
“Go home, pack up your things. A letter will come through with the details you’ll need for your transition to the other campus,” Hershel said.

  
Rosetta nodded gratefully and turned.

  
“Thank you, and I truly am sorry for everything.” She said before running down the stairs.

  
Desmond turned to his brother as he closed the door.

  
“How come the gentleman thing never gets you arrested?” He asked in astonishment.

  
“Ah, that’s a trade secret, brother,” the younger man chuckled, “Come now, that cake of Flora’s smells like it’s nearly ready.”

  
The rest of the day was the happiest they had all felt in a long time. They were eating cake, drinking tea, talking, laughing, and Desmond had never felt more at home. He had his family back, and some extra friends too.


End file.
